Explanations and Explorations
by Gumi Reloaded
Summary: Personal protection is not the only thing on the menu when a cop and a prosecutor head for some target practice. The wolf and the attorney meet again after their encounter at the Sunshine Café Journey of a Thousand Miles Saitou/Tokio
1. Chapter 1 Decisions in the Wolf's Den

**Explanations and Explorations**

**Chapter 1: In the Wolf's Den**

**Saitoh Part I**

**Date:** Monday, February 6, 2060  
**Time:** Late Afternoon - Early Evening  
**Location:** New Meiji Department of Justice (Police Wing, Armory, Shooting Range)  
**Characters**: NPC, Saitoh, Tokio

"**YOU HAVE ACCESSED THE NEW MEIJI POLICE DEPARTMENT ANSWERING SYSTEM. PLEASE LISTEN TO THE FOLLOWING OPTIONS BEFORE MAKING YOUR SELECTION." **

Saitoh took an impatient drag on his cigarette and listened.

"**TO CHANGE YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 1. TO LISTEN TO YOUR PERSONAL GREETING, PLEASE PRESS 2. TO FORWARD CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 3. TO ACCEPT FORWARDED CALLS, PLEASE PRESS 4. TO FORWARD A CALL TO A FORWARDED NUMBER, PLEASE PRESS 5."**

Saitoh swore, and tried to resist the urge to throw his office phone out the window, wishing that they would stop changing the options every few weeks.

"**TO CHANGE YOUR RINGTONE, PLEASE PRESS 6, TO LISTEN TO AVAILABLE RING TONES, PLEASE PRESS 7. TO REQUEST A CUSTOM RING TONE FOR ALL FORWARDED CALLS PLEASE PRESS 8"**

Exhaling smoke out of his nostrils in a murderous sounding snort, Saitoh slammed the phone down onto the charger with enough force that his terminal and desk shook.

"Yorimoto!"

Saitoh's new secretary jumped in his seat, knocked over a picture of his mother and her passel of pugs, and then tried to give his commanding officer a smart, manly sort of salute. "Yes, Saitoh-sama!" Newly promoted from the office accounting pool, Yorimoto Katsume was a twitchy little ferret of a man, one whom Saitoh suspected had an unholy fixation with fountain pens. "How may I provide you with assistance, Sir!"

(Holy freaking hell…) Saitoh gave his newest secretary a long measured look. "What is the prompt on the automated phone system so I can listen to my messages?"

"That's easy, Sir! It's option 18. Would you like me to assist you in button pressing, Saitoh-sama?" Yorimoto said hopefully, eager to prove his worth.

"No." Saitoh pinched the bridge of his narrow nose and prayed for patience, since his preferred course of action, that being strangling his secretary and shoving the body where the sun didn't shine was generally speaking, frowned upon.

"Oh," Yorimoto's face fell. "Well, if you have any trouble, please know that you can safely rely on me to provide you with timely assistance."

Saitoh pinched harder, reminding himself that slaying evil instantly was not applicable to the mentally deficient, no matter how annoying they might be, "I will keep that in mind."

"Oh, and if you are wondering about that voicemail you received fifteen minutes ago, the transcript is on your desk."

Saitoh glanced down at his desk and saw that there was in fact, a memo near his cigarette ash covered keyboard. (Unlike most people, he preferred typing rather than relying on voice recognition software) He frowned (due mostly to the smiley face stamp that was by Yorimoto's name) and began reading.

**MEMO:**

**To:** _Captain H. Saitoh_

**From:** _Office Secretary K. Yorimoto (recently promoted)_

**Subject:** _Voicemail from O. Murakami, DOJ (13:35:05)_

_Dear Captain Saitoh-sama, _

_Here is the transcript of a voicemail you received from one O. Murakami. Please review and let me know if you need any further assistance in this, or any other matter. _

_With the most profound respect that you could ever imagine, _

_K. Yorimoto ^_^_

**Start Message**

"_Hello, this is a message for Captain Saitoh-san. This is Oharu Murakami. I'm not sure if you remember me, but I was the secretary to the late Fujita Hiroshi? Yes, well… I am now working for Takagi Tokio, Assistant Prosecuting Attorney. She asked me to call and let you know that she will be stopping by your office to return an item that you lent her the other day and that you should anticipate her arrival no later than 15:30…._

_Saitoh-san, I heard about your injuries sustained in the line of duty. I hope that you will make a speedy recovery and that your boys, bless their hearts, are safe and well. If you have any questions, or can't speak with Takagi-san during this time, please call me directly or send an email so that I can reschedule._

_Warmest Regards, _

_O. Murakami"_

**End Message. **

Saitoh set the memo down, frowning slightly, recalling first the name, face and background of Takagi's new secretary. He knew the woman, had met her a few times when he'd been over to Fujuta's for a meeting and had watched her cry until her eyes were puffy and red at the family's funeral. She was, he supposed, a capable if overly sentimental employee.

Saitoh glanced over at his secretary, who appeared to be happily fiddling with yet another fountain pen and sourly wondered how much trouble he'd get in if he tried to swap secretaries with the attorney. (Hell, I'd be half tempted to let her keep the gun if she took this moron back with her…)

So, Takagi was coming to return the gun. He wondered if she'd have her regular issue side arm with her. (She better, or there will be hell to pay) While she'd dodged a bullet (several in fact) the day before, he knew all too well that luck generally didn't last and that if the woman wanted to stay alive long enough to ever collect her pension, she was going to be more careful.

He frowned, took a deep breath of cigarette smoke, and exhaled slowly as an idea began to form. Several minutes passed, in which time he finished his cigarette, made a phone call and did some research on a certain grey eyed attorney.

It was immediately apparent that the woman was over-qualified for her position as an Assistant Prosecutor. Despite being relatively young, she was an experienced, successful attorney and had a highly commendable case record, with an impressive conviction rate. Saitoh noted that she'd taken on more than her fair share of corruption cases in Yokohama and surprisingly managed to win more than she lost, no small feat considering the rampant corruption that plagued every level of the New Meiji governmental bureaucracy.

The second issue that stood out was the fact that her brother, Takagi Morinosuki, the lead prosecutor for the National Department of Justice, had assigned his younger sister to her current position. While Saitoh frowned upon any sort of familial favoritism, he also frowned on the notion that her brother would put place her in an office that had the highest employee mortality and corruption rates in the country. He knew Morinosuki and had worked with the man on a couple of cases and up until this point, always assumed that the man had his head on straight. (The damn fool has thrown his sister to the wolves…) Saitoh had a pretty good idea about why this had occurred, but intended to verify his theory when Takagi stopped by.

He looked at her employee picture and compared it against his recollection of the woman from the day before. It didn't do her justice, not by a long shot. The woman he'd protected and who he had been protected by was intelligent, capable and surprisingly kind, a quality that was in very short supply. She was also tough, capable of sending a bullet into a man's brain, and resourceful, using a blouse to tie a tourniquet around a severed artery.

The picture could also never hope to convey the sense of peace she carried within her or how soft her skin was. Waking on that floor, in her arms had been a life-altering experience. Saitoh stood up and walked over to the window in his office and looked outside at the sprawling, festering megapolis that he'd called home for most of his adult life. (Something occurred between us, some sort of recognition) While Saitoh wouldn't go so far as to say he was a religious man, he did have a deep respect and awareness that his existence and the lives of those he cared for was more than the mere sum of this mortal life. He'd seen too much while serving his country to believe otherwise.

**Saitoh Part II**

(I know her. Not as she is now, but as she once was.)

He was certain of this fact, even if the evidence was still rather lacking. He'd seen in her eyes a similar measure of awareness, coupled with a deep sense of confusion and a gut wrenching degree of longing and loneliness.

Saitoh pondered these things, deliberated on potential courses of action and the most likely ramifications of said actions and found that there were two roads, two paths to take; one was easy, bland and safe while the other was fraught with peril, heartache and the potential for a measure of peace and completion that he'd assumed he would never experience again.

Saitoh stood for several more minutes, his angular features indecipherable as he looked out at a city, at a society that was falling apart faster than he and others like him could put it back together and wondered at the wisdom and risks in choosing the path least taken, of risking so much for something so uncertain. A memory (if it was truly a memory rather than a hope made mentally manifest) blossomed in the back of his mind, of that woman, a woman he suspected had once been his wife, cradling a child in her arms, a child of their making) He'd dreamt of this boy, this missing son, even before Yaso passed away, but never in this context.

And then he thought of Yaso, of his sweet wife, who he still missed and mourned. He thought about how he'd failed her, just as surely as he'd failed their children, and how she'd passed so painfully, so violently from this life and from his side not fully knowing how dear she was to him, how deeply he loved and respected her. He wondered what she would think of this situation, how she would react to the knowledge that for the first time since her death, that the man she'd wed was considering the concept of permitting another woman to enter his life and the lives of their children. He wondered if this made him a less than loyal husband, if desiring one who was living was disloyal to one who was dead.

Saitoh leaned against the window and closed his eyes, which were burning with unshed grief. (I miss you) he thought. He felt a breeze that he assumed came from the slightly opened office window.

(I miss you too) there was no sound, no voice, just the whispery sensation of thought being pulled across his mind, like silk over steel.

(The boys…) he thought about how despite his best efforts, their home was not the happy place of memory, how his children were growing up far too somber and silent.

(They need their mother…)

(And they will have her…) the breeze moved around him, through him. (She has waited for them…) Despite it being winter, the breeze from his window seemed warm; as if it had moved through leaf laden trees during the height of summer (…she has waited for you, for so long…)

(I don't understand)

(You will…) Saitoh felt the wind, so strangely warm, move through his hair, almost like a comforting caress, and then with a parting sigh, it vanished just as suddenly as it had appeared.

He stood there for several minutes, his back to the door, until the phone rang, and Yorimoto jumped and knocked over his cup of tea and began apologizing profusely. It was not until late in the afternoon, a few minutes before his meeting with Takagi that Saitoh realized that the window to his office was shut and locked.

**Tokio **

Tokio let out an exasperated sigh. This was Monday of her second week working at the New Meiji branch of the DOJ. She wasn't an idiot. She usually had a decent sense of direction. But this building was hopeless. It was some sort of mega maze. That was the only way to describe it. She supposed that this was probably a good thing because any thugs looking for a specific office, like she was trying to do at the moment, would never find it, ever.

Oharu, her secretary, had given her directions, which at the time seemed quite easy to follow. The young attorney was reasonably sure that she *was* on the correct floor, but she had no idea which wing of this monster of a complex lay before her. All the hallways looked the same; there were no signs on the walls, or doors, which again confirmed her thought that no one had to worry about unauthorized intruders. Even the crime syndicate lackeys wouldn't be able to find their way around. That thought made her acutely aware of the body hugging shoulder holster underneath her blouse. Somehow she felt safer carrying his small side arm next to her body, than she ever did when hers was holstered. Her standard issue model was currently in her shoulder bag.

Tokio glanced down again at her phone's screen. She studied the directions Oharu had texted to the hand-held device, trying to figure out exactly where she'd made a wrong turn.

The most frustrating was that the halls were empty, empty, empty. There should be people around at this time of day, unless everyone in this wing worked an earlier shift than those in the other departments. Maybe the personnel in this wing used some sort of secret 'I'm invisible' app, she smirked to herself. All she wanted was to find a flesh and blood person, so she could ask for directions.

Most of the government's law enforcement divisions, courts, and legal services were located in this behemoth of a building. Supposedly -as stated in the new employee orientation that she'd been forced to attend last week- the offices were located at the same place to make it easy for the different branches of the justice system to work together efficiently. What a joke, the woman thought. There was no way anyone could work together, period, if they couldn't find who they were looking for. The orientation packet she'd received at that meeting didn't even have an electronic link to a map of the place. Most of the offices could be located by the gps app on a person's phone, but for some reason the gps coordinates for *his* office weren't even listed in the building's electronic directory.

Okay, now she was sure she had it correct. All she needed to do was to go down the hallway to her left, make a right turn at the first place she found intersecting hallways. Then look for a blue and white colored door… That should take her to his department. Perhaps, if that door wasn't locked, there might be a real person behind it to direct her the rest of the way.

**Saitoh**

"I disagree with your assessment, Captain," Umagoe argued, his voice rising with frustration.

"You can disagree with my assessment all you want," Saitoh didn't bother looking up from his terminal, his fingers flying as he worked on yet another briefing, "but it won't change the reality of the situation." Trying to recall the name of an intersection, he paused for a moment, and then upon remembering, started typing again.

"I've already scheduled an intercept," The younger captain, recently promoted and the son of a high ranking justice minister, was not used to being dismissed so easily and continued to push his case.

"Then reschedule the damn intercept," Saitoh said shortly as he finished the last paragraph of his briefing and started to review to ensure that no pertinent information had been missed. "A few hours will not make a difference in whether you succeed apprehending the suspect or not. Take the time you need to determine what you are going up against."

"I can't reschedule," Umagoe said petulantly, "there are…extenuating circumstances that must be considered."

Saitoh did look up at the officer, his eyes narrowing in sudden comprehension. "You've notified the press, haven't you?"

Umagoe's face flushed with indignation at the utter contempt in the older officer's tone. "My father…"

"Is a moron and so are you if you actually think that this is going to end well," Saitoh said flatly, no hint of compromise in his demeanor.

"You have issues with freedom of the press?"

"I have issues with people getting injured or killed needlessly," Saitoh said as he went back to proofreading, already knowing that Umagoe was not going to listen to reason, only to ratings. It was a disturbing trend among some of the other squadrons, tipping off the press about upcoming raids or intercepts. Successful raids always made the news channels and were trumpeted as proof that the government was succeeding in its attempts to stamp out corruption and vice within the city of New Meiji. Monitored raids that went poorly were also sent out on the news web as proof that the cops in the city were incompetent or unsympathetic to the plight of the average citizen.

"This is a high visibility case, and if it goes well,"

"IF being the operative word," Saitoh muttered as he scanned through the briefing pages.

"If it goes well, and I am confident it will, the intercept will bring needed positive publicity to our department!"

"You don't give a damn about this department, or the officers who are going to be put at risk for the sake of your overinflated ego," Saitoh said quietly as he saved the briefing file and started the encryption process.

"I am leading a group of highly trained officers on this intercept," Umagoe sniffed.

"How many are you taking?" Saitoh asked.

"Five."

"Idiot," Saitoh hit the submit button. "Are you so eager to die?"

"We have weapons and training."

"You are going up against a new drug class that we have never seen before and a man who is also well armed and has received advanced training." Saitoh warned, "You are underestimating your adversary and overestimating your abilities, Captain. That makes for a very bad ending."

"You seemed to do well enough," Umagoe pointed out rather snidely.

"He wasn't trying to kill me and I also had assistance from Takagi-san," Saitoh took out a cigarette and rolled it between his fingers. "Had either of those variables changed, I would have not survived."

"Yeah, the new PA was a real big help, wasn't she?" The young and exceptionally foolish officer continued, "I heard she went above and beyond the call of duty and went topless…put on a nice show for everybody."

"If by put on a show, you mean that she saved the life of a police officer and shot and killed an armed AMP user, then yes, you are correct," Saitoh stood up and tucked in his chair. "If you are unwise enough to be inferring something else, something that reflects poorly on that woman's character, then you will answer to me, do I make myself clear?" Gone was the dry, slightly sarcastic tone that he used when normally dealing with morons who didn't know their heads from a posthole. Saitoh walked over to where the shorter man was standing and looked down at him, wondering how the force was ever going to survive if there were such weak, unprincipled officers serving on it. "Get out of my office."

Umagoe started to argue, then seeing that the older man was not bluffing, shut his mouth and turned to leave. "This isn't over, Saitoh, not by a long shot."

"It will be if you don't re-examine your strategy," Saitoh said, appealing to the man one last time. "For the sake of the officers that you'll be taking with you, scan the building, confirm that there are no civilians and then dust the place with a nerve inhibitor and make the arrest. You'll have your positive press, if that is what truly matters to you and the narcotics squad will get the intel it needs about the drug he was using and if it's already in distribution on the streets."

"You lead your squadron; I'll lead mine," Umagoe snapped as he turned and stomped out of Saitoh's office. "And let's see who ends up ahead."

**Tokio **

F I N A L L Y …the blue and white door. How she'd managed to find it, she really couldn't tell. It was almost like she had a little breeze pushing at her back. Maybe her instincts kicked in and helped her; only kami knew for sure. She only hoped that she could find her way back to her own office, once she returned his property. It was late in the afternoon, and she didn't relish the thought of wandering the hallways until people arrived for work the next morning to point her in the right direction. She then noticed a little detail that her secretary forgot to tell her. There was a small number 3 painted in the center of the door.

Reaching down with her right hand she touched the knob, only to have it jerked away from her by someone opening the door from the other side. There in front of her stood a short young man with such a scowl on his face that the prosecutor was momentarily stunned into silence. After regaining her composure, she gave a little bow and asked, "Do you know where I can find Captain Saitoh's office?" She supposed that she should have introduced herself, but something told her that it would not be wise.

The man glared at her, his face beginning to turn an angry shade of red before spitting out, "It's here." She took a step back. His reaction to her question was….interesting to say the least. Tokio would bet that there was no love shared between the Captain and this man, whom ever he might be.

She stood in silence while the man stomped past her, then she took a tentative step inside. The office was neatly appointed; there were some chairs, and an empty desk. The closed door had to be the one she was looking for.

Walking up to it, she knocked on it firmly.

**Saitoh**

"_Do you know where I can find Captain Saitoh's Office?"  
_  
Saitoh's eyes narrowed into menacing slits at Umagoe's less than civil answer to Takagi's question. Dangerously close to losing his temper, (An early afternoon bout with Yorimoto weeping…WEEPING for crying out loud…over spilt tea and a ruined report had not helped) the officer was of half a mind to provide the self-absorbed, press hungry little asshat with a complementary (and badly needed) attitude adjustment when she knocked on his office door.

Saitoh opened the door.

"Takagi-san," he began to properly greet the woman, then glanced over her shoulder and saw that Umagoe was gawking at the office entrance, clearly trying to eavesdrop, or be clever, which considering the quality of grey matter between the man' ears was impossible.

"*This* is who you had your meeting with?" The shorter man taunted as bits of information clicked in his mind, trying to salvage his bruised pride at the expense of another, "you have a lot of nerve, giving me shit over wanting to get good coverage and appreciating the benefits of positive relations." The insinuation was clear in both the man's tone and his demeanor, as to what sort of coverage and relations he had on his mind.

(That's it)

While his general expression remained stoic, Satioh's eyes were blazing. "Please have a seat, Takagi-san," he said tightly, motioning to one of the chairs next to his desk. "I have a matter of business to attend to and will be right back."

Moving with great purpose (and great menace) Saitoh crossed the length of his office easily, bearing down on the shorter officer like a blizzard in winter. Umagoe opened his mouth to argue, then shut it with a nervous little snap as the tall rangy officer took hold of the scruff of his uniform and quickly assisted him in moving down the hallway, so quickly in fact that his polished boots were barely skittering along the polished floor.

**THREE MINUTES** **(and a serious attitude adjustment later)**

Saitoh calmly re-entered his office, quietly closing the door behind him.

"Please accept my apologies," he said simply as he walked over to his desk and leaned on it, folding his arms across his chest as his looked down at Takagi. His eyes were still snapping with annoyance, but a pleased little smirk started to form as he caught a glimpse of the woman's own sidearm on her body.

"You're carrying. Good," he said rather bluntly, never one to engage in idle chatter. "I'm assuming that it's standard DOJ issue?"

**Tokio**

Her knock on the door was promptly answered by the tall captain, but after his brief greeting, he looked past her toward the outer door of his office. She was tempted to turn and glance over her shoulder to see what he was looking at, but she didn't. It was one of those strange feelings again, one that told her that she must defer to him and let him handle it, whatever 'it' was.

_"*This* is who you had your meeting with?"  
_  
Tokio was a little rattled and very confused; her face showed it. How would that little man with the nasty countenance know that she was meeting with Captain Saitoh today? She was sure that her secretary could be trusted to be discrete.

Apprehensiveness washed over her. Did the people in her department, who were out for no good, already know her comings and goings? That could be a problem. Her concerted efforts not to call attention to herself were failing. Most likely due to what happened at that café. Both of them had been there, albeit not together. Not until they had to protect each other from the carnage. Probably every officer on duty yesterday responded to that incident, not to mention the med-evac units. Her state of dress, or lack of it, was great grist for the gossip mill. The press had a field day.

_"You have a lot of nerve, giving me shit over wanting to get good coverage and appreciating the benefits of positive relations."  
_  
Tokio may be virginal, but she was not naive, having been exposed to the ways of the world, courtesy of her chosen profession. She knew there could be more than one meaning to a statement like that, and she didn't like what was being insinuated one bit. Her face flushed, but not in embarrassment. She was getting angry.

_"Please have a seat, Takagi-san…I have a matter of business to attend to and will be right back."  
_  
She nodded and obeyed. It was amazing how easy it was to do what he said. She usually questioned anyone who tried to direct her, even when it was her father or brother, who was making an attempt.

Tokio took a seat and waited for the captain to return. When he did, offering an apology, she responded quietly, looking into his amber eyes, "Thank you captain, but it is not necessary for you to apologize for someone else's rudeness."

But Hajime was Hajime, she thought with a start. It was in his nature to have consideration for her. The far reaches of her mind could even imagine what might have transpired in the hallway, but her conscious self did not want to think about it.

"Yes, I am carrying. But I am carrying *yours*. Mine, which is as you suspected, a standard issue model, is in my shoulder bag."

Tokio then stood and excused herself. Turning her back to him, she lifted her blouse and withdrew his small side arm from her concealed shoulder holster. She had a fleeting thought that it wasn't necessary to turn away from him, as he had seen her bare midriff before. But that was back at the café, he was injured and she had no choice but to strip off her blouse to use it as a tourniquet. Her mind told her no. It was another time, another place, but he had seen her, *all* of her. She felt a light panic rise in her chest. These idiotic thoughts were back. The drug shouldn't be so long acting, should it? This type had to be really strong, maybe some sort of timed-release, if she was still emotionally hallucinating almost 24 hours later.

Turning to face him again, she gently laid his gun on his desk, taking care that it was not pointed toward either of them. Then she laid her hand on it, placing her fingers in all the right places to remove her genetic signature from the lock.

"Thank you for loaning me your gun," she dipped her head as she said it. "I won't be so careless from now on. I did intend to take my brother's advice, to get some body armor, but I underestimated the danger here in New Meiji, and did not do that as soon as I should have."

"I also need to apologize to you for my behavior yesterday," she was embarrassed for touching him.

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to grab at you like I did. It could have caused you to lose your balance. I don't normally do things like that to men. I don't know what came over me. It must have been the stress of the situation," she let out, trying to give a logical reason for her actions. Maybe it was a new designer drug, she was tempted to add. She surely couldn't tell him the *truth*, that her hands just moved themselves and she had nothing to say about it, and she couldn't have controlled it, even if she had wanted to. And she hadn't *wanted to* she realized much to her horror.

**Saitoh**

"_Yes, I am carrying. But I am carrying *yours*. Mine, which is as you suspected, a standard issue model, is in my shoulder bag."  
_  
Oddly, Saitoh felt quite pleased with the fact that the woman was carrying his gun against her side rather than the half-assed pea shooter that the DOJ insisted on handing out. Perhaps thirty years ago, it would have been sufficient for one's safety, but in this time and place, firepower of an altogether more serious nature was necessary.

When Takagi stood up, he frowned, not understanding for a second, then as she reached for the hem of her blouse (he liked the blouse…it showed a hint of her collarbone) he realized what she was doing and turned his head and stared at the wall. He's seen that collarbone the day before…but the situation had been different and he felt that staring now would not be appropriate.

"Thank you for loaning me your gun," Saitoh looked back as the slender woman bowed her head slightly. Her hair was blue-black, and glinted slightly in the late afternoon light. (And I am an idiot) he thought sternly (who needs to think about the task at hand). The woman's safety was at issue and that trumped everything.

"New Meiji is not Yokohama," Saitoh conceded quietly, thinking about the judge who had been shot on his way home from the opera the night before, and the attorney that this woman had replaced. (We're not in a city…we're in a war zone) "And adjusting to this life is difficult and takes time." He looked down at her hands, and frowned when he realized that she was wearing burn gloves.

Saitoh reached down and covered her hand with his, dismayed that she'd been injured. "Unfortunately, time is a luxury you will not be afforded." Gently, he brought her hand up, turning her palm upwards so he could look at the tips of her slender fingers, some of which were still red and almost blistered. His frown deepened when he imagined how badly pulling the melting armor off his chest and back would have hurt her hands. They were little, at least compared to his, her bone structure refined and delicate.

And then she apologized. Apologized for touching him, for gripping his shirt when she was being shot at, for hiding behind him as men, both wicked and good, were slaughtered in front of her eyes.

"Thank you Takagi-san, but it is not necessary for you to apologize for following your instincts" he said, almost teasingly as he threw her earlier words back at her. "You have them for a reason you know," He let go of her hand and looked seriously at the woman, not wanting her to ever second guess her reactions, at least where he was concerned. "And they served you well yesterday. The fact that you and I are still alive is proof of that."

**Tokio**

She had turned her back to him when she removed his gun from the holster beneath her blouse, and when she'd turned back to face him, he was facing the wall. She couldn't believe the measure of privacy that he had granted her.

Nodding her head in understanding of what he was telling her, she now *knew* that this placed posed far more risks than Yokohama ever had, and that it *would* take time to get used to this very dangerous life, if getting used to it was even possible. For a moment she wondered if she still would have insisted that her brother send her here, if she'd known then the dangers of New Meiji. Slamming down that thought, she realized that she would have come anyway.

Her breath hitched when he gently took her one of her hands to examine it, turning it carefully in his. Physical contact with this man only served to bring back the drug induced memories, the same sort of memories she'd glimpsed the day before at the Sunshine Café. That same creeping familiarity was there again. Did the captain get the drug on his skin? It must be impervious to water since the man had obviously showered at the hospital.

He was so understanding of her behavior yesterday that it warmed her heart. He really didn't seem to mind that she had all but groped him. She'd clutched his shirt, pulled his burned, bare back against her to keep him still so his leg wouldn't bleed out. He'd even covered her body with his, offering himself as the target so she would survive. She felt a loss when he finally released her hand. Why she did was a mystery to her. He was a good looking man, but her mind seemed to tell her there was more to it than that.

_"It is not necessary for you to apologize for following your instincts…You have them for a reason you know…And they served you well yesterday"  
_  
He said she should trust her instincts. There was something she wanted to ask him because she really had no one else to ask. She was still vetting the different members of her department to see which were honest, and which were suspect of dealing with unsavory elements. The last thing Tokio wanted was to draw a bulls-eye on herself. The job she now had was similar to one she'd had years ago in Yokohama, but keeping a low profile here in New Meiji was necessary to fulfill her brother's need to find the people or person in the prosecutor's office, who were working hand in hand with the underground syndicates, undermining the efforts of the consortium of clean officials, who were trying to reclaim the government for the people.

Yesterday she felt that she could trust him with her life, as idiotic as it seemed at the time, since she didn't even know who he was, and had never laid eyes on him before, or so she thought.

He worked the streets. Surely he would have heard about something like this. But if she asked, he might think that she was as crazy as she felt at the moment.

But he did say that she should trust her instincts; that they served her well. At the moment her instincts were screaming at her to talk to him.

"Captain Saitoh, I don't know if you will be able to help me or not." She was sure if anyone could, it would be him. But whether he felt at liberty to share information with her was another matter. "Have you heard anything about a new designer drug, probably dispersed by aerosol, possibly timed-release, that causes people to lose control of their emotions or to hallucinate, one that implants false memories in a person's mind?"

The prosecutor just hoped that he didn't think she was some sort of crackpot, because that is what she was beginning to think about herself. Maybe he would think that she was going mad, but she needed to know if there was a reason for her thoughts and behaviors over the past two days. This business all started at the diner yesterday afternoon, so she was suspicious that it had something to do with what happened there.

**Saitoh**

Saitoh caught the little gasp she made when he touched her hand, but said nothing. He didn't need to. It was enough to know that she, like he, was also affected by close proximity.

(Theory tested…theory confirmed) it was the way he worked; a lifetime of analytical thinking couldn't help but spill out into other aspects of his life. But there was only so much that a linear mode of thought could offer either of them in this case. Logic could not, for example, explain how something as simple as skin or eye contact could generate a wellspring of peace and stillness. Reason could not account for memories, for recollections of another time, another place, for a sense of familiarity (a sense of family) he thought as he looked down at her, his expression thoughtful as she explained her own theories and ideas about what could have triggered what he could only describe as an intense emotional awakening.

_"Have you heard anything about a new designer drug, probably dispersed by aerosol, possibly timed-release, that causes people to lose control of their emotions or to hallucinate, one that implants false memories in a person's mind?"  
_  
He thought carefully, giving her idea the consideration it deserved. "When I served in the war, there was, near the end of the conflict, a chemical attack on a nearby company of soldiers," He'd watched with the other officers as a hazy green mist settled over the encampment across the Sumida, a nearly transparent cloud that smelled vaguely of almond oil. For a few minutes, there was nothing in the aftermath of the silent attack, no sound from the barracks and bunkers, then it began, first in whimpers and groans, then terrified screams and anguished shouts erupted.

"It was an aerosol gas that attacked the central nervous system, resulting in hallucinations and a complete and utter loss of emotional control." It had shaken him, watching men and women, people he'd fought beside reduced to screaming, sobbing wrecks as the nerve agent ate them from the inside and caused their brain matter to break down at the cellular level. "So, yes, the technology exists to create a weapon that fit the parameters you described. Therefore it is possible, that some variant, something more benign was released into the air yesterday."

He paused, and looked at her carefully, trying to read and understand the emotions that moved over her beautiful face like low lying clouds in the summer. "It is possible, Takagi-san, but not probable. There were other survivors at the diner, Susanoo-san and the bus boy. I have reviewed their statements and neither of them complained of any atypical neurological reactions. And while it is conceivable that an agent could be introduced and potentially spread through touch, or close human proximity, I do not know how such an agent could ensure that two people, who have to the best of their knowledge never met and never spoken, could experience the same hallucinations or receive memories of one another. There is no drug, no gas or scientific explanation that I know of that can account adequately for what has occurred."

She was frightened, he could see the worry and confusion blossoming in her grey eyes and wanted to protect her from it, but in this case could not and would not. To do so, would be a disservice to them both. Still, he would not have her come to an understanding alone.

"If you are going mad, then so am I," he acknowledged quietly, allowing a barrier to fall between them. "And this…" he reached over and put a hand on her slender shoulder, a steadying supportive hand, "whatever this ends up being…it is not madness."

Unbidden, memories of breaking, of shattering, of becoming a pale, intoxicated shade of the man he should have been came to mind, "I would know the difference, because I have…" he paused, his eyes becoming stark and looked away for a moment, "because I know all too well what it is like to fall into such a state, and I give you my word, that I would tell you honestly if I thought ourselves compromised."

**Tokio**

She listened patiently as he answered her questions, first telling her why her idea had merit, but then with equal logic, letting her know that her theory was most likely not correct. Then he stunned her with an admission of his own.

_"And this…whatever this ends up being…it is not madness."  
_  
As soon as he touched her shoulder, she felt that same energy from yesterday, like a shock of static electricity that made you move forward, not jump back. Instinctively, she reached over with her other hand and brought it up to cover the one that he'd rested on her shoulder, giving it a little squeeze before dropping her hand down again. She hoped that he would leave his hand where it was, at least for a few moments more.

So he felt it too. She thought he might have from a few of his reactions yesterday at the diner. Now he was admitting it outright without hesitation.

_"I would know the difference, because I have…because I know all too well what it is like to fall into such a state, and I give you my word, that I would tell you honestly if I thought ourselves compromised."  
_  
Her eyes widened when he admitted to falling into madness. Her gut wrenched. Of course, it had to be when Yaso was killed so brutally. Her heart ached for him and she was sure that the emotion she felt was written on her face. A warm breeze on her back made her want to fold him into her arms, but she didn't, because she had no right to do so, not yet, her mind cautioned.

After opening up to her like he did, he really deserved to know the truth. Somehow in the deep recesses of her mind she *knew* that this man did not take lightly to whom he would reveal his inner thoughts and feelings. 'No', she thought, 'Hajime is a very private man, but not to me'. That thought shook her to her core. Her instincts were telling her that he *needed* to hear more from her.

She knew he'd said that if she was crazy, then he was, too. There was no way that she would doubt his sincerity, there was no way she *could* doubt his sincerity. 'He had been nothing but sincere for almost 41 years', something inside her echoed.

At first she tried not to look at him, at his strong face and gorgeous amber-eyes, but her own eyes, as her hands did the day before, moved of their own accord, looking directly at him. She knew she had 'hope' written all over her face. Hope that he would accept what she said, and help her to understand what it meant. She was so glad that he kept his hand on her shoulder, steadying her, giving her the support she needed right now.

"My hands," she paused, "yesterday, they just…..moved by themselves…..there was no way I could control them, and frankly, at the time I didn't want to." There she'd said it. Laid bare the reality she found so confusing.

"When I touched you, I felt like I *knew* you; you felt so *familiar* to me, and I knew that I had never laid eyes on you before. The strangest thing was that I didn't want to let you go. It was like I would not be able to stand the loss," …again…she added to herself. Regardless of what he said, she was sure that *she* had to be going mad. What other explanation was there?

She paused, chewing on her lower lip slightly, not wanting to get her secretary in trouble for divulging so much, but she had started this, and she had the feeling that *he* would want her to finish.

"Murakami-san told me a little bit about what happened to your family, and she told me that you had little boys. In my heart I somehow knew that you had *three* of them, so I was very surprised when she said you only had two. I didn't dare say anything to her at the time." And I probably shouldn't have told this to you, either. She hoped that he would give her some sort of sign that he did not think her outrageously out of line to divulge her thoughts and feelings to him. After all, she'd only first seen him about 24 hours ago, hadn't she?

**Saitoh**

Ever practical and military minded, Saitoh was a firm believer that one of the surest ways to determine the character of an individual was to observe them in battle. Aspects of personality emerged when one was under fire, whether literally or metaphorically and the most valuable nuances of temperament and honor (or the utter lack thereof) were revealed only in the crucible of adversity.

Silently, he watched the slender woman standing before him fight a silent battle, engage in a skirmish with herself that he did not doubt was as difficult, and perhaps even more difficult, than the battle she'd survived the day before in the café.

Self-doubt, fear and shame: He watched these dark emotions roil over her features, like oil spreading over clean water as she struggled with the most dangerous enemy a person has.

And then he saw, as any experienced soldier would, the sure signs that the tide of the battle was going to turn in her favor. Bravely, she looked up at him, looked into him and opened herself up, forgoing the easy, safe path of simpering denial and self-delusion. With courage to spare, she moved forward (as he had chosen to do earlier that morning) braving the second road, one that had no clear ending and a chaotic, emotionally charged beginning.

With his hand on her shoulder, Saitoh listened to her confess, almost as if she'd done something wrong, that she'd wanted to touch him, that he was as familiar to her as she was to him, and that already, she dreaded the idea of losing him again. Her innocent confusion and bewilderment over these emotions was surprising and humbling.

A darker, hungry and deeply protective part of his person rejoiced in the fact that she'd never experienced these feelings for another man, and if he had his way, never would.

And then she faltered a little, as if there was something else she needed to tell him, but was afraid to reveal, lest he find her words displeasing. This would not do.

(Tell me) he thought, not wanting there to be any secrets between them.

And then she spoke of his children, and saw the grief she carried for the loss of his wife and realized that she knew far more about him than he would have ever suspected. When she whispered that there was a third child, that somehow she knew as did he that there was a little member of his family, a boy who had long been missing, his face paled with shock.

"There was another child," Saitoh said raggedly after a moment, his emotions becoming raw with grief, "a boy." His hand on her shoulder shook. "She was…she was pregnant. Six weeks. I didn't know…" he swallowed, hard. "I'd been away on assignment and she'd wanted to tell me in person." He bowed his head, reliving the horror and devastation of hearing from a doctor that he'd not only lost a wife, but a child.

"I do not understand how you can know of this," He looked up into eyes that reminded him of Aizu in winter. "And I am sorry if this knowledge, this awareness between us has caused you any measure of heartache." He paused, then forced himself to be as honest with this woman and she had been with him. "For you see, I also have instincts where you are concerned, Takagi-san." Unbidden, his hand moved (as hers had done the day before) until it was tenderly cradling the side of her face. "Strong ones." His callused thumb ghosted over her lower lip where she'd bitten down moments before, as if to erase the painless wound. "My instincts tell me to keep you safe, to protect you from harm so that you are not lost to me."

He grew silent for a moment, his gaze lingering covetously on her lips for a moment, and then smiled slightly, his eyes glinting with what might have been a challenge. "I have faith in my instincts and would ask that you have faith in yours as well. The rest can and will be figured out in time."

**Tokio**

A son? He'd lost a son? Yaso had been pregnant? Tokio was beyond shock. Her heart was breaking for the man. She wished that she could comfort him and ease the pain that was clearly written on his face. In an attempt to do just that, she covered the shaking hand on her shoulder with one of hers, which was warm and steady. She gave his hand a reassuring squeeze, lingering longer than was appropriate before releasing him.

"Saitoh-san, I have no idea how I know these things, either. Frankly, it frightens me, because I don't understand what is happening inside my mind." She continued; her voice was almost a whisper, "Any measure of heartache that I feel is totally on your behalf." It hurts me to see you hurting.

When he softly cradled the side of her face in his hand, her eyes closed. A tear welled up and trailed down her cheek. She gave a little sniff to try to hold it back without success. She felt a thumb ghost over her lower lip, soothing the pain caused when she'd gnawed at it. His actions caused her breath to become uneven, and her heart to thump uncontrollably in her chest, just as it did yesterday. She'd felt this touch on her cheek before. Bewildered she asked herself, when and where, because she had no conscious recollection.

Her mind raced when he admitted to having instincts for her, strong ones. Her chest felt tight, as if it would burst at any moment. Knowing he wanted to keep her safe, so that she was not lost to him caused her head to swim. It was too much to take in all at once. It seemed so unreal, but somehow she knew it was all *true*.

He wanted them to have faith in their instincts about each other and let time be the factor that figured things out. But her analytical mind needed her to have order and reason in her life. Tokio needed to know the 'how and why' of this crazy awareness between them, and she needed to know now.

"About this connection, this familiarity that we seem to share…" she was at loss for words. What did she want to know? "Do you have any idea why we both feel this way….we don't know each other, yet we do…where does this come from, how can it be?" she finished, her voice trailing off.

**Saitoh**

Saitoh could feel her heartbeat change, could see her pulse point on the side of her neck leaping beneath her pale skin. Her instinctual reaction to his hands on her body was beautiful, the catch in her breath, the dilation of her eyes as she looked up at him, unbelievably beguiling. Desire, long suppressed, began to stir, needs began to awaken.

Unbidden he looked at her mouth again, slightly open, lips soft. He'd kissed those lips, and more, long ago and while the memories were still hazy, his body remembered all too well and clamored for a long delayed reunion.

Saitoh swallowed. (Ahou. She's not ready for this and neither are you.) He allowed himself to brush away a solitary tear, his fingers following its wet path down her cheek, then removed his hand from her face. He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze, much like the one she'd given him, and then let his hand fall to his side.

_"Do you have any idea why we both feel this way….we don't know each other, yet we do…where does this come from, how can it be?"  
_  
"There's a lot to take in, isn't there?" he said, his deep voice surprisingly compassionate. "I too am struggling, Takagi-san, to make sense of what has happened." He appreciated her need to know the truth; it was an admirable trait in a human being. "But I suspect that the answers we seek, will not be obtained by normal evidentiary procedures."

He smirked slightly, the low afternoon light causing his eyes to almost glow. "I once had a partner who went by the name of Okita. He was shorter than you, much shorter in fact, and was, hands down, the best fighter and best officer that I have ever had the honor of serving beside. When I met him, I experienced a sense of familiarity, as if I had known him for many years. This of course was troubling to me."

Saitoh's expression softened fractionally, becoming less hard than usual as he spoke. "Thankfully, Okita was far wiser about matters of this nature, and explained to me that I was simply remembering him from a past life. I thought he was cracked in the head at the time, and told him so," Saitoh snorted at the memory. "But as time passed, and we worked together, I found that his explanation had merit."

"I still do," Saitoh leaned forward, knowing that what he said next would be difficult for the woman to hear, "it is my belief that once, long ago, we were husband and wife." He did reach out then, and put his steadying hands on her shoulders, wanting and needing her to understand what he was trying to say. "I have memories of growing old by your side, of raising our three boys, of fighting to keep you safe. They are good memories, Takagi-san. You were then, as you are now, a formidable, beautiful woman and while I do not understand how these thoughts of you have managed to stay with me, I will not deny that they exist. To do so, would dishonor us both."

He paused, not wanting to overwhelm the woman any more than he already had,

"You may come to a different conclusion and I will respect that, as will I respect your wishes in how, or even whether we work together to come to a better understanding of what has happened. Regardless of what you choose to do, I will continue to offer you what protection and support I am able."

**Tokio**

She kept her eyes closed, relishing the tenderness and warmth of his hand on her cheek as it seemed to call to her from another time and another place. She felt a loss when he dropped it from her face. She realized, much to her surprise, that she liked his touch; it felt familiar and comforting to her.

He was right, there *was* a lot to take in. It was reassuring to her to know that he was struggling, also, at least she wasn't alone in this.

She listened intently to the story of his partner, Okita, her eyes widening like saucers when he mentioned that the man attributed the familiarity the two of them experienced to their association in a past life.

_"Thankfully, Okita was far wiser about matters of this nature, and explained to me that I was simply remembering him from a past life. I thought he was cracked in the head at the time, and told him so…But as time passed, and we worked together, I found that his explanation had merit. I still do."  
_  
Yes, she would agree, her first reaction would be that his old partner was, indeed, cracked in the head. Did she even believe in that sort of thing? Her life was built on logic and reason. Past lives did not fit into that context. But if not a past life, then what explanation was there? Her mind would have to process this possibility, but at the moment a past life seemed to be a very farfetched stretch of the imagination. If Saitoh thought Okita's idea had merit, and still does, then she at least owed it to the captain to give the idea some serious thought.

He wasn't finished yet. He seemed to save the biggest surprise for last.

_"It is my belief that once, long ago, we were husband and wife…I have memories of growing old by your side, of raising our three boys, of fighting to keep you safe. They are good memories, Takagi-san. You were then, as you are now, a formidable, beautiful woman and while I do not understand how these thoughts of you have managed to stay with me, I will not deny that they exist. To do so, would dishonor us both."  
_  
Husband and *WHAT*? Did she hear him correctly, did he really say *that*? If the pressure of his hands on her shoulders hadn't caused her feet to be firmly fixed to the floor, she would have jumped back from him in shock and disbelief. Where did he get the idea that the two of them had been married in a past life, and not only *that*, but they had three children to boot. She needed to sit down. This was emotional and mental overload. Her mind could only take so much confusion and stress.

"I have never been married before; I've never even *been* with a man. Surely I would remember something like that, wouldn't I?" she blurted out, confused, her face flushing with embarrassment. She was horrified. She'd *never* said anything like *that* to a man before. She couldn't believe that she'd revealed something so intimate to him of all people, even though he was a stranger who didn't really feel like one.

But what if no logical, reasonable explanation could be found for what had been going on in her mind ever since she'd first seen him yesterday? She told herself that not everything in life could be explained. Above all, she did know what she felt about him, and he felt familiar to her, he drew her to him like a moth to a flame. Captain Saitoh was not a rash man, yet he believed what Okita said to be true.

Okita….Okita and blood, coughing and blood, so many, many years ago, it was another one of those strange images that seemed to flow from the inner recesses of her mind lately.

She looked him in the face, trying to read what was there. All she saw was honesty. For some reason, she had no desire to alienate him or to push him away, but her befuddled mind was telling her to do the opposite. Regardless, she stepped closer to him, reaching up to trail the fingers of her right hand lightly down his cheek. She realized that she was probably sending him mixed messages. Her body wanted him to know that she felt close to him, but her words would tell him that her mind was in a state of turmoil.

_"You may come to a different conclusion and I will respect that, as will I respect your wishes in how, or even whether we work together to come to a better understanding of what has happened. Regardless of what you choose to do, I will continue to offer you what protection and support I am able."  
_  
His last statement caused her to feel panic rising within her. She wanted to cry at the thought of *not* working together with him in order to come to some understanding about this very strange circumstance in which they were now mired.

"I am very sorry, Captain Saitoh. I appreciate you sharing your story about Okita-san with me, but I have never considered such things before. But strangely when you mentioned your partner a vision of coughing and blood imposed itself on my mind." Maybe he could explain that one to her.

"To be honest with you, this is very difficult for me to believe. A part of me knows for *certain* that you and I have *some* sort of connection. Whatever that connection is, whatever it may have been, whatever it will be in the future…." She paused to gather her thoughts. "I know I don't want to turn my back on it and let it go." Because my heart will surely die if I do, she added to herself, not knowing where *that* came from.

**Saitoh**

A muscle in Saitoh's jaw twitched when Takagi stepped closer to him, close enough so their bodies were almost touching. He'd seen real fear in her eyes and confusion, nearly to the point of being overwhelmed when she confessed to being far more innocent than even he'd assumed. The embarrassment and shame that crept over her features afterward, dimming the clear light in her eyes, was enough to almost make Saitoh reconsider his strategy where this woman was concerned.

Almost.

Not accustomed to holding back, he had chosen to approach this issue as he would any other, examining the facts as he understood them to be, coming to a decision and then decisively acting upon said decision. This practice had served him well professionally, allowing him to effectively command a squadron and navigate through the treacherous waters of the New Meiji DOJ.

As to how his Spartan modus operandi had affected his personal life. It hadn't. Other than his children, he had no family. Other than Watanabe and a few other officers and an even smaller number of civilians who had earned his trust and respect, he had no friends. And up until he'd literally been through hell and back again with this woman in a diner, he'd been perfectly content to let things remain that way.

Takagi reached up and brushed her fingers against his cheek. Her fingers were soft. Unsteady. Intoxicating. Saitoh caught the hint of something on her skin, an echo of cherry blossoms in spring. His mouth went dry. (And Takagi worries that she's going insane …) Resisting the urge to pull her against him and see if she tasted as good as she smelled, Saitoh forced himself to release her shoulders and put his hands on his desk, where he was determined they were going to stay for the rest of this conversation.

He listened to her, accepted her skepticism, glad that the woman was no sycophant, but a strong willed thinker in her own right who wouldn't embrace any passing thought or fancy to please another, even if the other person was himself. He smirked as she challenged him about Okita, enjoying the hint of fire, relishing the opportunity to prove out his theory.

(This is no theory) This was fact. He knew it as surely as he knew himself and was confident that in time and with patience, that Takagi would see the truth of the matter. She valued the truth, and pursued it as ruthlessly and as passionately as he did.

So it came as no surprise, when she bravely declared that despite her doubts and fears she would not retreat from the pursuit of reason and was unwilling to cast aside the connection she felt with him. What was surprising and perhaps more than a little humbling was the sense of relief that he'd been right about her, that she was no subordinate to bark orders at, but an equal to be reasoned with and relied upon.

Hands still firmly on the desk (because a promise made was…and always would be a promise kept) he looked down at the slender woman with a backbone of pure steel, and knew that she, not he, was taking the greater risk by allying herself with him and had far more to lose by this association, than he had to gain. While she already knew about his wife and the loss of his child, there were other discoveries she would have to make about the man standing before her, details he was duty bound to disclose, that he was also an addict, one still struggling to ensure that he led an honorable life of sobriety and worse yet, that he'd been a less than exemplary father and husband.

(Those disclosures will have to come) He was no coward and would not shame himself by offering up excuses, but he was also not a moron and knew that he was going to have to work his ass off to offset his less than stellar aspects of his being with honorable actions…he couldn't help but glance at the delicious hint of collarbone that was protruding beneath her tastefully appointed blouse…(and restraint you idiot!) He would not give her reason to regret the chance she was taking.

"I never said I expected you to believe me," he said with a teasing smirk, "you'd be a damn fool to take a man at his word in matters such as this." Leaning forward a little (his hands not leaving the desk) he added, "And you are not a fool, Takagi Tokio, not by a long shot…" His expression changed then, becoming open and painfully honest.

"…neither am I. We both need time to make sense of this and to make sense of each other." He thought of her awkward admission, and how difficult that must have been for a woman to make to a man she hardly knew.

"I have not been with a woman, in any capacity, since my wife died," he offered this up quietly, trying to put her mind and heart at ease, "and I do not take this connection that we share, or the one with whom I have the honor of sharing it with lightly. My course is already set, and has been from the moment I awoke in the shelter of your arms, but I promise you, on my honor, that I will not ask anything of you, that you are not completely willing to give me."

**Tokio**

Curiously, as soon as he'd removed his hands from her shoulders, he'd placed them firmly on his desk, causing her to wonder what *that* was all about. She couldn't help the disappointment that filled her at the loss of the gentle warmth on her body. It was crazy how his touch made her feel so –what was the word- wanted? needed?

She looked at his expression; it was open and honest.

_"You are not a fool, Takagi Tokio, not by a long shot…neither am I…We both need time to make sense of this and to make sense of each other."  
_  
She agreed with him on this point. Tokio had no idea of how to even *begin* to make sense out of having been this man's wife in a past life. There was no way she could accept something like that immediately. Could she accept it at all? Only time would tell. Sharing that history with him –if that is what really happened, and he thought that it did- would take getting used to. It didn't necessarily mean that in the future, she would return to being his wife. His *wife*. She couldn't even wrap her mind around that one, much less think about what it would mean on a day to day basis.

But on the other hand, the thought of being *his wife* gave her a sense of safety, comfort, and peace. It gave her a sense of belonging that nothing in her life had ever given her before. On some level it made sense and it felt right. She had the distinct impression that this man –Hajime, her voice echoed- thought that many men were fools. She was humbled to know that he did not take her for one.

_"I have not been with a woman, in any capacity, since my wife died" _

It was none of her business whether he'd been with anyone since his wife died, but for some reason his action, or lack of it in this case, pleased and relieved her. Perhaps because it signaled to her that he was a man of commitment, who did not take relationships lightly. To her it meant that he would not share himself in that way unless his partner *meant* something deeper to him. His admission was most likely a response to her impromptu confession about her lack of experience in the more intimate matters between men and women. Was he also trying to reassure her that she could share her most private thoughts with him? If she had truly been his wife, that would have been the case during their marriage.

_"I do not take this connection that we share, or the one with whom I have the honor of sharing it with lightly."  
_  
He was deadly serious about all of this. In addition, he was *honored* to share this connection –whatever it was- with *her*. She was suddenly overcome with the feeling that she was someone of great value to this man. She sensed that this was not an easy admission for him, but he had wanted her to know –although he didn't say it outright- that she was precious to him. That realization struck her in the heart. She could feel tears welling in her eyes again. She raised her hands to her face to wipe them away. He would think her a blubbering idiot if she kept getting weepy eyed.

_"My course is already set, and has been from the moment I awoke in the shelter of your arms, but I give you my word of honor, that I will not ask anything of you, that you are not completely willing to give me."  
_  
He couldn't make himself more clear, if he'd hit her over the head with a club, and drug her into his cave. She appreciated his bluntness. She would not have to guess his intentions. Somehow she knew he would always be honest and straight forward with her, never making her doubt how he felt.

His words caused a vision from the diner - of her wrapping him in her tender embrace- to slip though her mind. And *now* she knew exactly what she wanted to be to *him*. She wanted to be his shelter, a place of reprieve where his heart could rest.

But most important of all, by not asking anything of her that she was not willing to give, he was giving her his ultimate respect. That realization hit her like a brick. She rested a hand on his forearm, giving it a gentle squeeze, she was sure that if he kept pushing his hands down on his desk like he was doing, it would surely be pushed through to the floor below.

"Thank you, Saitoh-san, for not pushing me beyond what I am willing and able to give you. I can't predict the future, but I do want a chance to come to terms with all that I have learned today." She hesitated, thinking about how bold her next statement would sound, "And I want a chance…to get to know you better. I cannot make promises, but I do know that I must walk a path of discovery with you."

Her face flushed with embarrassment. She didn't want to give him false hope, but she did want him to know that she could not turn her back on what he'd revealed to her. A little voice then reminded her that she wanted to be *his* shelter.

It seemed like she was on the brink of discovering a wonderful treasure that was locked away somewhere in her very essence and being, and this man had the key.

Perhaps it was time to give the talk of the past a rest. There were more pressing matters that affected the here and now. She'd come to return his firearm. He'd said earlier in their conversation that he would do what he could to keep her safe. It was time to change the subject.

"You offered me protection. What exactly did you have in mind?"

**Saitoh**

"_And I want a chance…to get to know you better. I cannot make promises, but I do know that I must walk a path of discovery with you…"  
_  
A soft, slight breeze blew through his office, like a relieved sigh in the late afternoon stillness.

Saitoh felt it. Sensed it and wondered if Takagi did as well.

"And I with you," he said quietly, referring to the journey that they had both agreed to undertake. A part of him knew that a similar path had been trod, one long before that had been as hard and perilous as he suspected this one would be. He glanced down at her slender hand resting softy on his forearm and caught the faint hint of her perfume. (I led…and you followed…never questioning, never wavering in your resolve)

_"You offered me protection. What exactly did you have in mind?"_

Saitoh laughed, the sound a raspy, bemused bark. He grinned at her, genuinely pleased at her boldness and realized that this time, for this journey, he and this woman would walk the path side by side.

"You are direct and to the point. I like that." Not one for mincing about, he stood up, picked up the side arm she'd returned to him and carefully slipped it into his shoulder holster. "As for what I have in mind, why don't you come with me?"


	2. Chap 2 Arms, Armor, and Amorous Moments

**End of Chapter 1:**

"_**You offered me protection. What exactly did you have in mind?"**_

Saitoh laughed, the sound a raspy, bemused bark. He grinned at her, genuinely pleased at her boldness and realized that this time, for this journey, he and this woman would walk the path side by side.

"You are direct and to the point. I like that." Not one for mincing about, he stood up, picked up the side arm she'd returned to him and carefully slipped it into his shoulder holster. "As for what I have in mind, why don't you come with me?"

**Chapter 2 Of Arms, Armor, and Amorous Moments**

**Saitoh**

He walked to the office door and opened it for her. It was an old-fashioned response, one that some women would find objectionable, but it was a habit ingrained from childhood and old habits die hard. Together, they left his office and started winding their way through the labyrinth of hallways, elevators and side tunnels that was the DOJ.

It was late in the afternoon and many employees were already gone, and stragglers were already few and far between. They walked silently, a tall woman and the even taller man, her low heels clicking on the polished marble, providing a light counterpoint to the heavier pounding of his boots as they made their way down, past street level, into the lower levels of the building.

"There are two armories located in this facility," Saitoh finally spoke as they entered an elevator. He punched floor (-5) and waited until the door had closed, "standard issue weaponry and body armor, the type you received when you transferred, are dispensed from the larger armory."

The elevator chimed, and with a hydraulic hiss, the elevator door slid open, revealing a poorly lit hallway that wound to the left, "this is where our assault, tactical and intercept squadrons obtain their weaponry." The third tactical squadron captain walked down the hallway at a brisk pace, but took care not to walk more quickly than his companion. While the upper levels of the DOJ were resplendent with marble, glass and chrome, this below ground facility was devoid of any sort of ornamentation and appeared more like a military bunker than anything else.

Eventually, they came to a heavy metal door with a mean looking DNA scanner. Saitoh placed his hand on the scanning bar, then waited as a red beam of light moved vertically from the top of his hand to the bottom, and then back again. After a second, an electronic tone emitted from behind the door, and six heavy electro-magnets reversed polarity with a heavy thud. The door slid open, greased gears grinding.

"The men we encountered in the diner yesterday were part of one of the larger syndicates in the city, one that specializes in drug and sex trafficking. We are still determining if his coming into the diner when you were there was merely coincidence, or if you had been targeted by the organization," Saitoh said flatly, as he came to another door with similar access controls, "considering that this is the same syndicate that is responsible for the death of your predecessor and his entire family, I very much doubt that yesterday's encounter was accidental," The door slid open and Saitoh walked through and motioned that Takagi follow him into another elevator.

"You saw the type of weaponry they had at the diner and the drugs they were using. This is the type of enemy that you are pitted against, Takagi-san." Saitoh said as the elevator came to a grinding stop. It was an abrupt end to the ride and he reached out, steadying the woman with his arm. "Standard issue protection and normal security procedures will not be sufficient if you wish to remain alive." He left his hand where it was, trying to provide a measure of comfort in an entirely comfortless situation.

Saitoh looked down at the woman, her beautiful face half hidden in shadow. She was a trained professional, one who had already demonstrated she had the skills and strength of will to shoot and kill a dangerous criminal. That being said, knowing something and accepting something were very different things and Takagi had to reconcile herself to the fact that her life, as she'd known it to be, was over.

"I promised that I would help keep you safe. This is a part of that promise, Takagi-san," he said, the relative softness of his voice at odds with his ferociously intense expression as he thought about how easy promises were made and how difficult they could be to keep. This one, he vowed, would be kept. The alternative was absolutely unthinkable. (The other part will come later, when you are ready for it…)

Saitoh punched an intercom button. A faint beep was heard behind the final door to the armory.

There was silence, then a crackle of static. "You're late, you squint eyed son of a bitch!"

Saitoh chuckled and pressed the intercom button again, this time speaking into it. "Quit your bitching and open the damn door, Minato."

He glanced sideways at Takagi. "Nice guy. Spends far too much time underground."

More static sounded, "You bring that woman you called about?"

With a surprising well spring of patience, Saitoh responded, "Yes, she's with me. Were you able to procure the necessary items that I requested?"

There was a pause, and then the armory door opened, revealing a wizened old man with a comb over from hell and coke bottle glasses peering owlishly up at both of them. "Yes, you damn ornery old wolf, I got what you asked for!"

**Tokio**

"_And I with you,"_

At his words she felt that gentle breeze again, the same one that seemed to guide her towards his office earlier. She was filled with relief, warmth, and a sense of belonging, all because he wanted to walk down that same path with her, regardless of where it ultimately led them. She still couldn't grasp how the man –still practically a stranger- could elicit such feelings within her.

A laugh wasn't quite the reaction she expected to her question about how he was going to protect her. She just quirked her brows at him, as if to ask 'okay buster are you going to let me in on your little joke?' She guessed that his sense of humor would take some getting used to. 'But you did get used to it before', a little voice in her head reminded her.

_"You are direct and to the point. I like that…As for what I have in mind, why don't you come with me?"  
_  
"It's a good thing you do like directness, because I've been told by others that trait is annoying."

She then smiled at him, warmly, responding to his invitation, "Don't mind if I do, Captain. Please lead the way." When he opened the door, letting her pass through first, she gave him a little nod of thanks, quite pleased that the man had manners. If she believed some of that office gossip she heard, she would have expected him to stomp off briskly, leaving her to try to catch up to him.

The two walked in companionable silence -a silence that felt as though they'd experienced it together many times before- through the labyrinth of hallways, elevators and side tunnels that was the DOJ. She was truly glad that he was by her side, because if left by herself, she knew she would be hopelessly lost for days in this mega maze.

He finally spoke, as they stepped into an elevator. She listened intently to the background information he gave her about the building set up, taking in every little detail he offered. It was as though he was sharing classified information with her. It made her feel like he…valued her…she realized with surprise, as she followed him off the car when its door slid open with a hiss.

This place was stark and dark, quite a contrast to the rest of the building. It was almost unsettling to think a place like this existed in the DOJ. The dimly lit corridor sent a chill down her back. If she'd been here alone, she would have worried about what was around the bend in the hallway that lay ahead of them. But as long as he was by her side, she *knew* there was no cause for concern, ever.

Being here, where the assault, tactical and intercept squadrons obtained their weaponry, seemed to enhance his concentration and sense of purpose. Yet although he now walked briskly, she realized that he took care not to leave her behind. She couldn't help but feel he was giving her a kind of consideration that he rarely afforded to others.

It wasn't until they passed through the ominous looking door, which required a DNA scan for entry, that he began to speak of things that literally made her blood run cold. This man knew much. If she hadn't respected him before –and she had- she would surely respect him now.

She really couldn't help the hitch in her breath, nor the cold sweat that seemed to erupt on the back of her neck when he began to explain his theory about what happened at the Sunshine Cafe, voicing who he thought was responsible. She had *no doubt* that his assessment was correct. He was a very competent man. She'd heard that around the office; she'd experienced it first hand at the diner.

_"Considering that this is the same syndicate that is responsible for the death of your predecessor and his entire family, I very much doubt that yesterday's encounter was accidental,"  
_

She barely processed that they went through a second palm-activated security door, and had entered another elevator. She was just following him now, trying to process all that he told her.

_"Standard issue protection and normal security procedures will not be sufficient if you wish to remain alive."  
_  
Saitoh's assessment of yesterday's carnage made her skin feel clammy and cold, as she realized that life as she knew it, was over. The syndicate worked fast. It had taken them only a week to put a hit on her. No wonder her brother, Mori, was so against her coming to New Meiji. The sobering reality of what her life would now be like struck her deeply. She was glad that the man beside her had put his arm around her to steady her as the elevator rumbled to a shaky stop. Instinctively, she leaned into him for more support and to try to capture some of his heat to warm her chilled body. How did he know that she needed his touch right now?

What if she had never encountered Captain Saitoh? What if he hadn't been at the café yesterday? She paled at the thought, because she knew the answer. She…would…have…died…period. Was it fate that brought him to that particular café at that particular time?

"If you don't mind me asking, and I know it is none of my business, but what brought you to the Sunshine Café yesterday?"

His arm was still around her. She was still pressed to him, struggling to make sense of the quicksand that was now her life. She was close enough to reach over and press the button, 'close door', waiting for him to answer.

His voice was soft, firm and reassuring as he reminded her that he had promised to keep her safe, but his face was as ferociously intense as that of a warrior heading for battle. An image of blue and white, a top knot and katana skimmed though her mind.

As soon as she released the 'close door' button, he switched on the intercom. After a bit of haggling between the Captain and someone named, Minato, they stepped through the doors and were confronted by an odd-looking little man. In spite of the words he and the captain exchanged, she could sense camaraderie between them.

Even though she was in a humorless situation, she couldn't conceal the little laugh that erupted at the old man's words. She bit her lips and put a hand over her mouth to try to hide her amusement, but the words spilled out before she could stop them, "Ornery old wolf?" she questioned, looking right at Saitoh with a sparkle in her grey eyes. Now *where* had she heard *that* before? Probably from *your* own lips a little voice answered her.

**Saitoh**

"Missy, you'd better take care when keeping company with one of Mibu's wolves," Minato's dirty eyeglasses gleamed in the harsh fluorescent light of the armory as he stared up at the wolf in question. "This one in particular," he warned as he shot Saitoh a dirty look for good measure, "You chain smoking, ill-tempered, armor melting pain in my arthritic old ass!"

"Moron," Saitoh flicked the man on his mostly bald head, disrupting the carefully choreographed comb-over. "Takagi has been vaccinated for rabies, she'll be fine." He glanced over at the attorney with a sardonic grin, enjoying the banter almost as much as he'd enjoyed hearing her laugh.

"As for the armor," All signs of sarcasm instantly vanished. "It served its purpose, as will the replacements that we're here for." He motioned for Takagi to follow him into what could only adequately be described as a large rectangular bunker with a long hallway dividing the room into two sections.

On one side were rows and rows of shelved weapons, most of them fully automatic, lining the concrete walls and steel storage racks, all locked up behind thick metal cages. The other section held the ammunition, a morbid mixture of high velocity and energy rounds of varying caliber, tasers, stunners, and personal explosive devices (PED's) that either contained charges, nerve agents or were filled with shrapnel that would, depending on which PED you used, stun, cripple or kill their target.

"Some new side arms, I suspect will also be in order," Saitoh took his larger gun out of the holster and extended it for Minato to inspect. It was burnt, cracked, the LED display flickering occasionally, "Preferably something that can punch through poly-kevlar body armor."

"That's military issue only." Minato argued as he took the weapon and began fussing over it, as a mother might over a child with a skinned knee.

"Not anymore," Saitoh said grimly, glancing over at Takagi. She'd shot a man wearing the armor they were discussing, "Takagi-san can also verify this. It's on the streets and will soon saturate the black market."

He frowned, thinking of how much more dangerous it was going to be for his officers. "We're going to have to upgrade, and soon if we wish to maintain any sort of advantage over these assholes."

"You're already outgunned, Captain," Minato said peevishly as he walked over to the table and set the damaged gun down. "All the weaponry and training in the world can't compete against meta-amphetamines. Sooner or later you'll be coming in here for a shot of this, and an injection of that."

"The hell I will," Saitoh sneered, his expression becoming dangerous. This was a long-standing argument, one that both men vehemently disagreed on.

"The day that drugs become standard issue for our officers…"

"Is coming sooner than you think, Hajime," Minato said almost regretfully as he opened a trunk and took out what appeared to be a large gun metal grey flak jacket and examined it carefully, then tossed it to Saitoh, who caught it with one hand. "Until then, hopefully, this will keep your stubborn ass alive for a few more days. I'd hate not having someone to argue with."

"He took out a smaller jacket and offered it to Takagi. "Don't blame me if the size is wrong. He called in your measurements and the specs for your armor. Top of the line, from top to bottom. You sure she needs this?"

"It will fit," Saitoh muttered as he unbuckled his gun holster, set it on a shelf and then slid off his shoulder holster. He knew exactly what her measurements were, knew them as well as he knew his own body.

Saitoh looked over at Takagi and something akin to sorrow registered in his gaze. Never again would she be able to casually dress, without thought to form and function. She was delicate and slender, her body suited to wearing an elegant kimono rather than military grade body armor. And while Saitoh was not a man who bleated and bitched about how unfair life was, in this instant and in regards to this woman, a part of him wished that the world they lived was a more peaceable one.

"I think Takagi-san will agree that this is an unfortunate necessity," was all he could manage. (It will keep her alive) Hell, at this point, if he could convince the women to go about town wearing a tank, he'd go for it, if it would keep her safe from harm.

"Beats getting blown in half by an energy round, don't you think?" Minato groused.

"Aa," Saitoh nodded, and took off his badge, hand restraints, and other items an officer was wont to carry on their person.

"Well, don't just stand there looking at me. Strip and get that armor on." Minato groused.

"What?" Saitoh, who had already unbuttoned his shirt and was in the process of shrugging out of it, grimacing as the medi-bands pulled at his half healed skin, looked over at the armory master as if the man had gone off the subterranean deep end.

And then it hit him. He realized that Minato had not been addressing him, but rather the woman he'd brought with him.

Oh. Shit.

Saitoh stopped taking off his shirt and for a moment, seemed at a complete loss as to how best proceed.

For an officer, changing armor was commonplace, regardless of gender. He'd stripped in front of Watanabe and his other female officers more times than he could count and had until this moment, thought nothing of it.

(She's not an officer, fuckwit…) he glanced around the armory, wondering if there was a place she could change privately. An idea formed, one that he tenaciously latched onto.

"Perhaps Takagi-san can use your office to change?" He looked over at the woman, his expression apologetic.

**Tokio**

Mibu's wolf, huh? Tokio liked the sound of it. She was a history buff. It reminded her of the historical Shinsengumi that tried to keep the peace so long ago. From what she had seen and heard, Captain Saitoh seemed to be cut from the same cloth, as far as keeping the peace.

Regardless of their words, the two men held each other in high regard. She could tell by the tone of their voices and the looks on their faces as they bantered. She just shook her head when Saitoh reassured the little man that the woman was properly vaccinated. "I'll watch myself," Tokio replied brightly, answering the old gent with a slight flirty tone to her voice, her eyes scanning the bunker where Saitoh led her. She was glad the officer and his friend were able to find a little levity in this very serious business.

The Captain's tone turned serious. There were so many weapons here, and the variety of ammo was so extensive that it almost made Tokio's head spin. Who….knew….that this arsenal was mere floors underneath the non-descript office complex that housed the different departments of law enforcement. She had to fight the urge to reach for the man beside her in order to steady herself. She almost felt weak-kneed at the sight of such a massive amount of firepower all in one small place.

The prosecutor listened intently as the men talked about the merits of the various items in the arsenal. Her ears perked as they discussed military issue protective gear that made its way onto the streets. There were so many corrupt members in both the police and the army, willing to toss safety and life aside to line their pockets by selling the syndicates protective gear and armaments they were never intended to have.

Tokio wasn't surprised when the talk turned to drug use. It was rampant among the city's criminal element, giving them a physical power beyond what was normal for a human, putting most of the police officers at a disadvantage. But there were troubling rumors of users among members of the force, too.

It sickened Tokio to think that soon the metro police might have to indulge in drugs just to keep pace with the criminals. She inched a little closer to Saitoh, a knot forming in her stomach at the thought of *him* falling victim to the side affects of the drugs they were discussing. Because there *were* side affects and they were *very* nasty, and sometimes not survivable.

Gads! Saitoh had called in her measurements? She didn't even want to think about how he figured out *those*. All she'd done at the café was to hold him to her chest, and then he'd barely seemed lucid. Tokio realized that she underestimated the man. Well, maybe it was an innate trait of all men, to size up a woman once she was in his sights. Horrified, her mind backed-up. Sights? There was no reason she should be on his radar, well almost none. He did have some delusional thought about her being his wife in a past life, something that Tokio promised to consider, but hadn't yet given more than a passing thought.

She just hoped that he wasn't the type that wanted to see a woman in something that was skin tight. If that were the case with Cop-san, she'd bet money that she wouldn't be able to breath while wearing that body armor.

Tokio took the vest Minato offered her, a strange feeling of gratefulness washing over her when she learned that the Captain ordered the top of the line model for her. She looked at him only to see him focused on her. Was that sadness she saw in those amber eyes?

As Saitoh started to strip, she could feel the skin on her neck flushing an embarrassing shade of pink, soon her cheeks would follow suit, turning the same color. She did see him without a shirt yesterday; she was even the one who stripped him of his burning body armor. But that was different. It was an emergency. Duty called. All she noticed were the blisters on his skin as she removed the melted material of his flak jacket.

The burns from yesterday were still evident on his neck, chest and back, but to her great relief, they did look a little better. In all the commotion at the cafe she hadn't noticed the lean muscling of his upper arms, or the flat, firm planes of his chest and stomach. But she noticed it *now* as he began lifting his shirt over his head. She wondered how she'd missed the military tattoo on his right arm and the healed gunshot wound on his left shoulder; it had to be right under her nose yesterday. She shuddered involuntarily at the thought that the wound in his shoulder was much too close to his heart for her liking.

_"Well, don't just stand there looking at me. Strip and get that armor on."  
_  
"What?" Tokio squeaked, "Me…strip?" No way in hades or heaven would she do that! Not in front of Minato, or…. Then that awful little voice she'd been hearing in her head for the last 24 hours reminded her that the wolf by her side had already seen all there was to see of her…but in another lifetime.

"No… noooo… NO!" the little weasley man barked at Saitoh's offer to use the armory master's office as a changing room.

At catching Cop-san's apologectic look, the prosecutor blurted out,"Yes, an office. That would be good." She had a father and brother, but she wasn't one to parade around *anywhere* in a state of undress, unless it was to use an item of her clothing to stem the tide of blood, her mind hammered at her.

Captain Saitoh flashed a menacing look in Minato's direction, causing the man with the coke-bottom glasses to turn without a word, and head back towards the elevator. Stopping by a door that had a large frosted glass window, he grudgingly pointed at it. Saitoh stepped forward and opened the door for her. Tokio gingerly peered inside before tentatively stepping in. The Captain closed the door behind her with a click, leaving her alone to try on the protective vest she clutched to her chest.

When Tokio first poked her head in Minato's office, she almost reconsidered using it as a changing room. She was immediately greeted by the scent of what could only be termed 'left over lunch from a month ago still in the wastebasket'. It was obvious that the place was a male retreat which sorely needed the skillful touch of a cleaning lady. She happened to know that DOJ employed them; so why didn't Minato use them?

The prosecutor wrinkled her nose. Some men were so territorial and refused to let anyone into their dens to do even the most basic of tasks such as vacuum or empty the trash. Her deductive skills could only conclude that this was the case here.

The clutter on the man's desk was unbelievable. Tokio wasn't sure if it really was a desk. She couldn't see the top, it was totally buried, but the drawers, located where desk drawers should be, gave it away.

A plain oak chair standing in one corner looked clean enough, so Tokio dropped her shoulder bag there before holding the protective vest out in front of her with both hands to give it the once over. She could tell the top from the bottom, but this one had no front opening. Made sense. You didn't want a breech in the fabric in front of your lungs and heart. She quickly removed her blouse and draped it over the back of the oak chair. Her shoulder holster was the next to go, leaving her in only her sports bra.

Slipping her arms through the bottom of the flak vest, she found the arm holes first. She wrestled with the uncooperative armor until her arms were completely through and with a final huff her head popped out the top.

The prosecutor looked down at the vest, realizing that it had been so hard to get on, because in some spots it was too tight, no surprise there. But in other places, like around the back neckline, it was actually too loose. She groped around at the sides of the vest, then patted the front as best she could. But nowhere could she find any adjustment latches. Then it hit her. OH. This one must adjust from the back. Now what was she supposed to do? Take it off and then try adjusting it?

Would she be able to fit it to her body properly, loosening it where it needed to be loosened, and tightening it where it needed to be tightened, when it was off of her? Could she even *get* it off, because now it was so tight around her breasts that she didn't think she could grab it where she needed to grab it to extract herself from it. This was quite a device; she should have asked the little man for the instruction manual before attempting a fitting session. This sure was different from trying on dresses with Tae earlier today.

An unsettling realization crept over her. She needed help. Sighing, she resigned herself to her fate. Well, he had seen her in a sports bra yesterday. She was wearing one today, too.

Hiding behind the door as she opened it a crack, she sheepishly made her request, "Hajime Captain Saitoh? Could you please come in here a minute? I believe that I need some help." Why was she thinking about an obi bow that was tied so tight she couldn't get it off by herself? Was her mind playing one of those nasty little games again?

In a very quiet voice she then added, "I think I am stuck."

**Saitoh**

The look on Takagi's face as she confessed to having technical difficulties was priceless.

"You're stuck?" Saitoh asked dryly, one narrow eyebrow quirking up. Not content to simply piss of Minato by insisting that a woman trespass the sanctity of his office, he'd also lit up and was half way through a well needed cigarette, unsure what was better, the taste of tobacco or the sounds of the armor master fussing and fretting that one stray cigarette cinder was going to result in them all being blown to kingdom come.

She nodded, and opened the door a crack more, the reluctant invitation clear.

"Yare, yare," he exhaled slowly, savoring the smoke before pushing off the wall and walking over to the office, "let's see what we can do to get you unstuck then."

And then the smell hit him.

"Gods, Demons and Hepatitis C," he muttered in distaste as he took in the profoundly filthy office. His sensitive nose protesting the pungent assault, he took a deep drag of the cigarette and then dropped it on the floor, crushing it carefully beneath a boot. A cockroach went skittering by his foot and instantly met the same fate.

A little skittering sound behind the overflowing garbage can made the officer suspect that there were vermin of a slightly larger variety lurking in Minato's office and he was half-tempted to drag Takagi out of the hazmat violation and get her vest sticking situation resolved in a slightly less stinky locale.

Speaking of vests….

"No wonder you're having trouble," Saitoh shut the door behind him, then turned and faced the attorney, "your vest is on backwards."

As expected Takagi's face went red and she began apologizing. "Why say sorry? You've never worn one before," he said bluntly as he began examining the front of her armor, which was currently residing on her back. "If I had 100 Yen for every squad member that made a similar error the first time they were fitted for body armor, I'd have already retired a rich man. So quit fussing."

Saitoh leaned over a little and began tugging at the adjusting straps. They were far too tight and restricting for anyone's comfort. For a second he wondered if Takagi was responsible for mashing her poor breasts against her tightly constricted chest, then dismissed the thought entirely when he realized how she'd come to be stuck in the first place.

"Minato, you sneaky son of a bitch," Saitoh swore as he undid an intentionally knotted strap. He felt the vest loosen fractionally and Takagi take what he was sure was a well needed deep breath. "The bespectacled twit cinched up your vest, thinking I'm sure, that he was being terribly clever." Saitoh's tone was the polar opposite of amused as he tugged at another strap, trying to allow the woman a measure of relief.

"This isn't going to work," Saitoh groused, frowning for a second. He thought for a moment, then moved his hands sliding his fingers beneath the shoulder sections of the vest. "Arms up," he requested and when Takagi complied, he gave the vest a tug up, then another one.

"I could kill him you know," Saitoh growled as he tugged up and Takagi twisted this way and that, trying to get the damn vest off of her, "we could stuff his body in this shithole of an office and no one would be the wiser."

After a minute or so of tugging, the vest slipped off over Takagi's head. Saitoh felt great relief, partly because she could breathe properly and partly because her back was turned to him. In the tug and tussle, her sports bra had caught on the vest and was pulled up high on her back, past her shoulder blades the fabric twisted. Without thinking, Saitoh reached down and pulled the fabric down where it belonged, then froze when he felt the woman stiffen and heard a gasp that had nothing to do with no longer wearing too restrictive body armor.

He frowned, realizing his mistake. He'd done this with his wife before, helped her in and out of the crazy contraptions that women were wont to wear and had not thought anything of it. (This woman is not your wife, Moron) At least not yet. Not wanting to frighten her, or worse, have her think that he was not a man capable of keeping his word, he put his hand back on her back, gently.

"Be at ease" he said quietly, and after a second, when she relaxed a little, he removed his hand, "my intentions towards you have always been and always will be honorable."

He encouraged her to turn around, so she could look him in the eyes and know for herself that the only danger to her wellbeing was whatever was lurking behind Minato's trashcan. Keeping his eyes fixed on her face; he loosened the vest properly, and helped her slip it back on. Now properly fitted, it slipped on easily, allowing perfectly for the curves and contours of her body.

"Better?" he asked, waiting for an affirmative response before he continued.

"I'm going to adjust my vest now and then activate it. Watch closely and then make similar adjustments on your own armor."

Saitoh made an adjustment, explaining the form and function, and then watched as the woman followed his example and began making modifications on her own.

"Do you feel this?" he asked when they were nearly done, taking one of her little hands and pushing it on the side of his ribcage, pushing the material flush against his skin. "The little give?' he pushed again slightly. "The poly-kevlar has not been activated yet and is still in gel form. This state will allow you to fashion armor that fits you perfectly and will give you much better protection than standard issue armor."

Saitoh then motioned to the activation button on his armor. "The introduction of the electrical current the first time will cause the gel to solidify, becoming a poly carbonate that will stop most velocity and energy rounds." He smirked a little, "of course, the vest is not infallible as you saw the other day, but it is the best protection that I can offer you at this point in time."

His smirk fell and he became deadly serious. "Never leave your home without this on, Takagi-san. Never allow anyone to touch or borrow your armor, not even for a minute, unless you trust that person with your very life." He hesitated for a second, then reached over and gently brushed her hair back behind her ears, for several seconds he let his hand rest, his long fingers following the elegant line of her slender jaw and neck, feeling her strong pulse leap beneath his touch. "Promise me, promise yourself, on whatever you hold most dear, that you never allow yourself to be as vulnerable as you were yesterday at the diner. If I hadn't come in for coffee after a long shift, you would be dead, or wishing that were dead."

"One slip up, one mistake is all it takes and you're gone." He pulled his hand away reluctantly, his eyes darkening with the dearly-won knowledge that had broken his heart and very nearly broken him. "I would ask that you never put yourself, or those who care for you in such a position."

Saitoh reached down and activated her vest, adjusting the setting to a high, but not overloading level. "It takes 4 minutes for the poly-kevlar to set." He then activated his own armor, as crackle of light and energy erupted from the armor, enveloping them both in beautiful blue-white light.

**Tokio**

Tokio told herself she was *not* going to move as the very large, nasty looking cockroach skittered within centimeters of her shoes, which she was quite thankful, *weren't* the open-toed variety that she preferred wearing in the summer, or she would have done far more than just think about moving. She would have taken a flying leap at the overhead light fixtures (or at Captain Saitoh) to get out of its way. Even though some of the residuals from the kill landed on the toe of one of her Mary Janes, she nodded her thanks to the tall officer who'd made sure the creature had seen its last day, sparing her from any further encounters of the cockroach kind. Oh, but didn't these things travel in packs, she thought to herself. Ugh. No…wolves traveled in packs.

She was going to pretend she didn't hear the rustling behind the waste can, no sense looking for trouble if you couldn't see it. Besides, she had nothing to fear in the company of this man. He kept her safe around human vermin yesterday, so she was quite confident that he would protect her from the animal kind today.

Nope, she'd never worn this kind of armor before. He was right. All they gave her at the previous armory in Yokohama were second hand models, some even sporting holes to show how effective they *hadn't* been when it came to protecting their former owners. The best stuff -for very good reason- was issued to the cops; attorneys were expendable. For some reason, she thought it best to keep that bit of info to herself. She hated to think there might be repercussions on her brother, Mori, since he was the one in charge of operations for the entire national branch of the DOJ, including arms and armaments.

The Captain was being so nice about this, not calling her an 'ahou' as some would have done to her for being so clueless and putting the thing on backwards. He was even trying to assure her there was no reason for her to be upset because of her mistake. His quip about 'not fussing' made her feel as though he was a mother hen tending to her chick. Again, she was sure -somehow- that he was granting *her* more leeway than he did to others.

The tugging and pulling began in earnest. Her tightly constricted breasts, already beginning to whine about the contraption, did not appreciate his attempts to extract them from the vest's vise-like grip. Scrunching her eyes together, she tried to push back the thought that this wasn't the first time *this* particular man had done some pulling and tugging on certain parts of her upper anatomy, and there was no flak jacket involved that time. Paling at her last thought, she realized that she could, finally, take the breath she'd been craving. The thing was still very tight, but now it shouldn't cause any tender parts to bruise or ache.

Secretly, she was relieved that the blame for the disastrous fitting session lay with a wheezened geriatric case. That Saitoh was not pleased in the least with the old man's sense of humor was easy to tell. Was that a protective nature poking to the surface of this stoic man? Again she felt like a vulnerable chick being shielded by its mother.

She could feel his frustration at not being able to release her from her poly-Kevlar prison. The sensation of his fingers sliding across her skin, as he attempted to get a firm hold on the vest's shoulder section, sent the mother of all shivers right down her back. She didn't flinch. She didn't pull away. She just dutifully obeyed his request that she raise her arms. He was trying his best to help her. She knew that, just as she knew he wasn't trying to make her heart feel like it was going to beat right out of her chest. But that was exactly what happened, the instant his hand brushed her bare skin, just like at the diner yesterday. It was beyond her understanding how a man, virtually a stranger, could elicit such a response.

It warmed her heart when Saitoh had a murderous impulse toward the armory master.

"I think killing him would be too good for him…he needs to be locked in here to rot along with his garbage. You're right. No one would ever find him. It smells so bad in here now, that no one would notice the aroma of a decaying cadaver." She was usually more charitable with people, but this practical joker was toying with her life…*her* life.

The continuous tugging, yanking, and twisting seemed to produce results as she felt the vest rise over her head. With a gasp of horror, and a stiffening body, she realized that the vest wasn't the only item headed toward the ceiling. Her sports bra was intent on keeping it company. How did those two items of body wear get so chummy that they just had to stick together now?

But the most surprising thing was the gentle touch that pulled her errant bra back to where it belonged. He did it so naturally, without thought, as if he had done it so many times before…to her. She was shocked beyond words when she realized that it wasn't what he *did* that bothered her; it was her response to it. It felt….so…normal.

Mentally kicking herself in the head, she reminded herself that the man had been married for who knew how many years. It was no stretch to think that a husband would be roped into helping his wife with some of the more annoying aspects of getting dressed or undressed, whichever might be the case. From personal experience she knew that some items of women's clothing did not always cooperate when you tried to get them on or off. A little black dress with a cranky zipper sewn in the back came to mind.

That did it. She was now on sensory overload, especially when he pressed a reassuring hand to her bare back, telling her to be at ease, reminding her that his intentions were honorable before coaxing her to turn and face him. She was speechless, afraid to open her mouth, afraid of what she might admit. Here he was apologizing to her for his misstep, and she wanted to tell him…'oh..don't worry…you are quite welcome to do that any time…you want.' Whatever she was feeling towards him…about him..she couldn't put into sensible thoughts or words…she just knew that she never wanted to…she just never wanted to what?

Their gazes locked, as he made adjustments to the vest he now held in his hands, slipping it back over her head when he was finished. Was there something to read in those amber eyes of his? Was her body temperatue rising? She was sure that he could see into her soul…a soul that seemed to be calling to him, for a reason that she was almost on the brink of understanding.

_"Better?"_ he asked her. She could only respond with an affirmative nod. The darn thing fit like a glove. He wasn't kidding when he told the old guy that he knew her measurements. That fact only caused her traitorous heart to keep hammering away at an even faster pace.

He was giving her instructions now, telling her to watch him carefully, which she did, before she followed his example adjusting her own armor to fit her contours. She really did need to know and remember how this contraption worked. He would not be with her every day to help her, or remind her about what to do. Why did she feel like that was a loss?

_"Do you feel this?"_ he asked her as he took her hand, pressing it to his rib cage.

Now that he had taken her hand and pressed it to his side, she had to fight to concentrate on his words. It was *those* feelings again. Why did he do this to her? Most important was *how* did he do this to her? Was there really an intimate connection in their past? She shuddered at the thought as she tried to keep her composure. Were those her arms that were trembling?

'Do I feel *what*?' she asked herself, as he continued pressing her hand to his side. 'Do I feel the flat planes of your stomach that I saw only a few minutes ago?' Then, yes, I do. 'Do I feel the warmth of your body under my hand, in spite of the poly-Kevlar gel in between us?' Then, yes I do. 'Do I feel myself beginning to believe that fantastic, unbelievable story you told me?' Then, yes, I do, she answered to herself, honestly.

His emotional torture was not yet finished. She closed her eyes when he brushed stray hair behind her ear. He hesitated a moment before lightly trailing his fingers along her jaw and down her neck. His touch was unbelievably soft. It was warm; it was familiar. Again that feeling of belonging enveloped her in response to his gentle hand. How did he ever expect her to remember anything about electricity and poly-Kevlar when he was distracting her like this?

His warning of a few moments ago came back into focus now, his hand on her hair almost made her forget his cautionary words. She couldn't help but feel…no…she couldn't help but *know* that he was *not* talking to a mere colleague about personal safety…he was...it was…it was as if he was a husband speaking to his wife…the woman who held a special place in his life..

She remembered what he'd told her in his office…she'd all but dismissed him as someone on crack. She'd just brushed him off, thinking that he couldn't possibly be serious about them being married so many years ago. The past had been -almost, but not quite, she began to realize- completely erased from her conscious mind.

She was beginning to suspect that the feelings she'd been having for the last 24 hours…weren't just coming from nowhere… It seemed totally irrational…but she finally admitted to herself that they could be glimpses of a past she shared with him. Those images and feelings seemed to rush into her consciousness whenever he was nearby….or whenever he *touched* her…for even the most innocent reason as he did a few minutes ago, when his hands brushed between her shoulder and the vest as he tugged it off of her.

_"One slip up, one mistake is all it takes and you're gone. I would ask that you never put yourself, or those who care for you in such a position."  
_  
His words made her heart ache for him, because she knew that he was speaking of Yaso, and what had happened to them…to their family. He must have loved Yaso so much. 'Did he love me that way?' The deep reaches of her mind asked in response to her conscious thoughts.

Her mind was still spinning when he activated her vest; then did the same for his own. As their armor folded them into the blue and white light…wrapping them in -what seemed to Tokio- ethereal arms from the past, she reached up with her delicate hands, gently cupping his face, smiling at him, trying to communicate without words that she… although not yet completely ready to tell *him*she was beginning to believe what he said about their past…did want to explore a future that included them, together. She felt connected to him, something she had never felt with anyone before. The two remained that way until the light surrounding them faded. Slowly she dropped her hands to her sides, desperately wanting to reposition them around his waist, but she resisted the urge. 'No not yet,' she said to herself.' It's not our time yet.'

**Saitoh**

Saitoh was hard pressed to recall the last time that he'd so been tempted set aside a promise.

He knew all about temptation, about how easy it was to succumb to base desires. Promises were easy to make and easier to discard than an empty bottle of sake, if a man wasn't careful. Saitoh was a very careful man. He had to be. A year of sobriety under his belt wasn't enough to suppress the destructive urge, the bone snapping need to drink…to drown. Saitoh had on more than one occasion wondered if in the life of an alcoholic abstinence would ever get easier, if the strong sense of self-mastery that had guided him rightly in all other aspects of his life and conduct, would ever return in full and would be able to cast aside this shameful part of himself, crush the craven weakness beneath his boot with the ease of stepping on a roach.

Takagi trembled, closing her eyes as he brushed back her hair and let his fingers slide across the soft skin of her neck and jaw. He was thankful her grey eyes were shut, thankful she couldn't see the raw hunger in his gaze as he touched her. She was so beautiful, so responsive (And always has been…)

A memory of a sigh, a sweet tasting mouth, of warm skin, slick with sweat tore through his mind like a hollow point might a less careful man's head.

A split second was all it took and he could recall with perfect clarity the scent of her long, black hair spread out beneath her, the slide of a silken kimono slipping off a white shoulder and the shuddering, gasping way she whispered his name as she wrapped her trembling long legs around his waist and let him slide inside her.

(Stop it!) Saitoh forced himself to think of something else. (Anything else…) It took all his willpower to remove his hand from her neck. It made giving up alcohol seem almost easy. (You promised to do right by this woman...) He reminded himself sternly as he reached down and with great care not to let his hands linger on her vest, (…an innocent woman who would have a heart attack if she knew what you were thinking about) Saitoh activated his own armor, thankful for the four minute reprieve so that he could get his shit together.

He ended up with less than a minute.

Surrounded by beautiful blue-white light that surged and writhed across her armor, Takagi reached for him and heaven help him, he let her. The warmth in his chest was only partially due to the activating poly-kevlar gel. Without realizing it, Saitoh stopped breathing when her small hands came to rest on either side of his face. Concerned that the touch would trigger more memories of an intimate nature, he held very still during the first hesitant caresses.

More memories did come, but these were of a different variety, no less special, but softer and safer. He exhaled, his features becoming less severe. Recollections of being welcomed home after a long and dangerous mission, of sharing a bowl of soba, memories of walking side by side along a beautiful, frozen river in the dead of winter, their breath mingling as they spoke. These were the thoughts and feelings that filled him, softening the edge of his white hot desire and hunger into something more manageable.

Relief coursed through him. She was (as she had ever been) a comfort to him, a bringer of peace amid chaos. Saitoh recalled this as her soft fingers moved against his sandpaper rough jaw, a realization that caused him to actually smile, a smile that was devoid of any smirking sarcasm. He looked down at the woman wreathed in light, and felt something shift, sensed that she was slowly but surely finding her way back to him.

(I'll be waiting…) he thought, knowing somehow that this was a promise that she'd made to him many times, as he left her, left their family for the sake of their country. He couldn't recall an instant, save one, where he'd ever looked back when she bid him farewell.

(I was a moron) he decided, reaching for and finding a narrow waist that fit his hands perfectly. (I still am, apparently) he ruefully conceded as he caught himself staring at her sweet mouth. This woman was addictive, he decided, as the light from their nearly cured armor began to slowly fade. But this addiction, unlike the one that had ripped his family…his life completely apart, was something that was life affirming, a ferocious desire to protect and cherish. And while the desire was still present (that being the understatement of the year) it was bound by a promise that he vowed he would never break.

( I'll take nothing that she doesn't willingly give me…) He reminded himself as the light faded back to normal. A part of his brain (the part that apparently resided in his pants) was hoping that Takagi would be willing to give him a kiss (because a kiss given logically could be a kiss returned) but his other processing center knew that it was too soon for such things and he let the thought slide.

Saitoh turned off the activation switch on Takagi's armor and his own. They stood there for a minute, in Minato's swill pit of an office, then Saitoh forced the issue, as he slowly let go of her, his reluctance clear. "We'd best get out of this office before we catch something…" his eyes narrowed as more skittering behind the waste basket sounded, "or get caught."

Opening the door for the woman, he looked around the armory, already priming to tear into Minato. "Why don't we go and pick up our new weapons?" he suggested as they made their way towards the weaponry shelves. "I know just the man that we can use for target practice."

The man in question had apparently fled, perhaps picking up on his less than life affirming emotions.

"Coward," Saitoh scowled as he picked up a piece of paper and read it.

_Hope the fitting went well, you arrogant ass._

Rather than wait up for you kids to finish fooling around, I've left your weapons on shelf. You know the drill. Sign the damn paperwork. Check and certify the weapons on the range then get the hell out of my armory before you burn the place down!

On a more serious note…

I don't know what's worse, the fact that you're half tempted to start living again, or the fact that I'm half hoping you succeed. She seems like a nice girl. Pity about her choice of employment though.

Oh, and if you ever set foot in my office again, I'll put cyanide in your cigarettes!

Minato  
  
Saitoh read the note, frowned and crumpled it into a ball and tossed it into the garbage.

His expression was serious as he picked up a sleek automatic weapon and offered it to Takagi. "This is not unlike the model I lent you, but has armor piercing capabilities and is a slightly higher caliber. It will take some getting used to, but you've already proven that you're more than capable of handling high velocity firearms."

Saitoh motioned to a smaller weapon on the table. "That's for your purse. It's only a semi-automatic, so use it as a weapon of last resort and only at closer range."

He then took his two new weapons. Fully automatic with tracer scopes, they looked positively lethal, which was the general idea. He carefully examined them, then flipped them over and entered his genetic signature, then wrote down the code that appeared on the LED display on the tablet that Minato had left behind. While waiting for Takagi to do the same, he filled out his paperwork (in triplicate – some things never changed apparently) and sent himself a secure copy of the registration.

"Since our quarry has eluded us for now, we'd best test these things out in the traditional manner," Saitoh said his sarcasm back in full force, slipping his weapons in his shoulder and hip holster. "Unless you want to hunt whatever's skittering around in that moron's office?"

Takagi's response was…endearing and a little bloodthirsty. He liked that. Hell, he liked her.

Together they made the long walk down one more level to the shooting range where Saitoh programmed two shooting simulations. The bullets were real (the images that they were shooting at were not.)

Saitoh took out his shoulder arm and turned the safety off, then flicked on the laser sight, a familiar hum sounding. "Ready?" he asked.

**Tokio**

No sooner had she pushed away her desire to grab him by the waist and pull herself to him, than he did exactly what she had been thinking, what she had been wanting. He reached forward and held her by her waist. It was as though the two of them were the only ones in the world. She felt a sense of peace and safety. She felt an incredible sense of belonging…to him. She was almost moved to kiss him, to see if his lips were as gentle and as soft as the touch of his hand on her face. Somehow she remembered that they were. But she was not forward with men, and she did not know him well enough, not yet.

The surreal spell was broken the moment Saitoh turned off the activation switches on their vests, quelling the already fading blue-white light. With a sigh Tokio stepped away from the man, as he released her from his grasp.

She knew as soon as he slipped his hands around her waist that he felt her connection to him as clear as the sky was visible on a sunny summer day. It scared her, a little, to feel so close, so connected to a man, especially one she'd known for only a day. But there was no way she could deny what she felt, and how he responded to her in return. She finally reached the point that she wished she could remember something more concrete about her past life, if that was what was causing these feelings and fleeting images.

If she had truly been his wife, shouldn't she remember something? Perhaps it was stress that brought out her memories, as faint as they were, since during yesterday's extremely dangerous event at the café, she seemed to be flooded with more acute sensations, even calling out his first name, if she remembered correctly. She even *knew* what he would do, and what he would think. At one point she saw him wield a katana, dressed in a blue and white haori. She gasped when it hit her which historical military group wore *that* uniform. She'd been so caught up in events yesterday that it didn't even register that she pictured him wearing a Shinsengumi uniform. She hated to think that it would take severe trauma to jog her subconscious mind into releasing more of her long suppressed memories.

Whether she had really been his wife or not, really didn't matter as far as her feelings were concerned. She knew that, now in her present life, she liked him; she liked him a lot. She liked his sense of humor and the strength that seemed to just roll off of him in waves. She knew that if she could cocoon herself in his arms, nothing bad would ever happen to her again. But it puzzled and worried her how these intense feelings for him could develop so soon, in only a matter of hours. That was not normal.

She was still lost in her thoughts when Captain Saitoh suggested they pickup their new fire arms. Walking over to the oak chair, she grabbed her blouse, folded it and stuffed it in her shoulder bag. It was far too warm in the armory at the moment to add another layer of clothing. She would put her blouse back on after target practice. She then slipped her old side holster over her new protective vest.

Tokio followed the captain out of Minato's office. She was a bit disappointed that the old man was missing. She was actually hoping to see what the captain had planned for the little fellow after the stunt he pulled with her new vest. She would have loved to see that note that caused the frown on Saitoh's handsome face, but it wasn't as if she could get away with picking it out of the garbage in front of him so she could read it.

So instead she contented herself with listening to the descriptions of her new weapons. She felt fairly comfortable with the small semi-automatic, because that is what she learned to shoot with, but the higher caliber automatic was another matter. She might need some help with that one, especially when even he mentioned it would take some getting used to. The weapons he took for himself looked truly impressive, but not something that she would want to carry.

Tokio watched intently as he entered his genetic signature on his weapons and recorded the code on the tablet. Her old model from the Yokohama armory didn't require her to do this. When he was busy with his paperwork, she did the same for her guns, following his example. When she was finished recording the codes, she placed the semi-automatic in her purse, and slipped the automatic into her shoulder holster.

Together they made their way to the firing range.


	3. Chap 3 Past Interferes with the Present

**Chapter 3 The Past Interferes with the Present**

**Tokio**

Together they made the long walk down one more level to the shooting range where Saitoh programmed two shooting simulations. Tokio was still trying to wrap her mind around what had happened when the two of them were enclosed in the blue-white light. She knew instinctively that something had truly shifted between them. The memory of the way he smiled at her would stay in her heart for a lifetime.

Captain Saitoh then took some ear protectors and clear poly carbon glasses off a shelf, handing them to her. As she settled the hearing protection over her ears and slipped on the glasses, she thought of all that she had learned over the years about guns and shooting.

Tokio never forgot the words of Ray Chapman, the first combat pistol world champion. Chapman said, "Shooting well is simple; it just isn't easy." Once she'd read those words, their truth stuck with her.

Shooting really did sound like quite a simple procedure. If the gun is aimed at the target, and the trigger is pressed, and the shot is released without moving the gun, then the bullet will strike the mark. Yes, it seemed simple, but there was much more to it than that, and it had been quite some time since the attorney had done any formal target practice.

As she gathered her thoughts, the things she learned from her father came back to her mind. She knew that handguns were the most difficult firearm to shoot successfully, because there was less to hang on to. The radius between the front and rear sight was shorter than that of a rifle, meaning a greater chance of human error when aiming. These days, laser sights took care of the aim, if your gun had one. Tokio's new ones didn't. A handgun also had no third locking point on the shoulder, like you had with a long gun's butt stock.

Tokio mentally reviewed the shooter's check list that her father, Takagi Kojuurou, had impressed on her so many years ago, when he first taught her how to handle a gun. She was twelve then. He was a newly elected official in Aizu. There was constant worry due to the political climate at the time, that the Takagi family would be targeted because of her father's anti-corruption policies. He and his family needed to learn how to protect themselves. Everyone, including her mother, over much objection, learned how to shoot. Her father told her that shooting was like constructing a building; you started from the bottom up. There were five things to remember: the need for a strong stance, a high hand grasp, a hard grip, a front sight, and a smooth rearward roll of the trigger.

The attorney knew she needed to take a front stance just as if she was practicing karate. Her lower body would need to form a pyramidal base, a sort of triangle with depth. She was right handed and planned on shooting two-handed, so she wanted her hips at a 45-degree angle in relation to the target with her left leg forward and her right leg back. Then she would be properly balanced forward and back, and from left to right. She knew that this stance would make it easier to hold the gun on target, often the difference between life and death. She might need to have the captain help her get in the correct position the first few times.

In a rapid fire situation, her shoulders would need to be forward to get her body weight in behind the gun to help control recoil. She kept thinking of her father's words, 'Nose over Toes, Tokio', to remember this point.

What was that about the hand hold? Oh yes, the higher the hand, the lower the bore axis which meant much better control of muzzle jump and less movement of the pistol upon recoil. Semiautomatics were supposed to be shot using a high hand grip, making it easier to press the trigger straight back as each shot was made. Tokio remembered that if her hand was placed too low on the handle, a straight rearward pressure on the trigger tended to pull the muzzle down, placing the shot low, causing a miss to the target. She would need to focus on that when using the small semi-automatic the captain gave her today.

Semi-autos, like the one Saitoh told her to keep in her purse as a last resort, were designed to operate as the slide moved against the abutment of a firmly held frame. A low grasp allowed the muzzle to whipsaw upward from recoil, as the mechanism automatically cycled, diverting momentum from the slide through the frame. The slide could then run out of momentum before it completed its work, causing the pistol to jam. A jammed side-arm usually spelled death for its user.

The tighter a gun was held, the less it kicked and jumped. The less kick and jump; the more efficient the shot. Kojuurou taught his daughter to hold the firearm as tightly as possible even to the point that hand tremors set in. Some people called this a 'crush grip.'

Her father told her that the sights needed to be kept straight in line. If the sights were in line, and the hand quivered, the sights would quiver in the center of the target. When the shot broke, the bullet would strike the center. Once hit, the target would neither know nor care that the shooter quivered before the projectile was discharged.

'The consistency of grasp is the key to consistent accuracy,' those were her father's wise words. Shooting was a multi-tasking exercise that gave a person a lot to think about. Stress levels could change during shooting, and the consistency of a person's grasp could change, too. Her father told her there were only two ways to grasp the pistol with uniformity. One was to hold it with virtually no pressure at all, which gave poor control of recoil. The other was to hold it as hard as you could for each and every shot. The last way was the way that Tokio learned to shoot.

Holding a pistol with maximum grip strength makes it less likely that the firearm will be knocked or snatched from your hand while in a combat situation. In addition, it is the ultimate cure for a hand gunner's malady known as 'milking.'

'Milking,' a term meaning the movement a made by a hand as it milks a cow's udder, occurs when the index finger closes on the trigger and the other fingers sympathetically close with it, changing the grasp and pulling the sights off target. This usually pulls the shot low and to the side of the intended destination.

If all fingers, except the index finger, are closed as tightly as possible around the gun, the tight grip hyper-flexes the fingers so they can't tighten any more, even when the trigger is pulled. This eliminates the milking action, which can distort the accuracy of the shot.

Tokio remembered there were many ways to position the thumb. Some shooters learned to shoot with the thumb high, resting on the manual safety. Others preferred to point the thumb straight at the target. The straight thumb position seemed to align the hand in a way that allowed the index finger its straightest rearward movement. With powerful guns, curling the thumb down to add grasping strength and enhance control was a useful technique. A lot depended on how the gun fit the hand. The controls were a factor, too. With a conventional double action auto that had the safety catch mounted on the slide, it was good to have the thumb where it could push the lever into the 'fire' position, and confirm that it was in the correct position.

Kojuuro told his daughter that contacting the trigger at the crease of the distal joint of the finger, the spot old time revolver masters called 'the power crease,' gave a person much more leverage and therefore more control. This was particularly true on guns that had long and/or heavy trigger pulls. A lot depended on hand size and shape in relation to gun size and shape.

Usually, the gun's front sight was centered in the notch of the rear sight with an equal amount of light on either side, the top of the front sight being level with the top of the rear sight. Tokio was told that human vision being what it is, a person can't focus on the sights and the target at the same time. There was no way to focus on both the front and the rear sights at the same time, either. Once the target had been identified as something that needed to be shot, the primary focus goes to the front sight, the aiming indicator. Kojirou told Tokio that the way to lock the handgun's projectile onto the target was by focusing on its front sight.

She remembered that failing to properly focus on the front sight was a widespread problem among shooters. Her father's words hammered in her head, 'Watch the front sight hard. Apply your primary visual focus there. Look at it until you can see every little scratch in the machining on its surface. If it has a dot on it, focus on it until the dot looks like a basket ball. Then you will see your shot groups tighten as if by magic.' That was exactly what the prosecutor had done at the café yesterday to put the slug through the center of the AMP user's forehead.

Takagi also taught his daughter to remember the prime directive: once the gun was aimed at the target, the trigger must be pulled in a way that does not pull the muzzle off target before the shot is fired. This means that the trigger must come straight back.

The goal is a smooth, even, uninterrupted pull. The best way to do that, Kojuurou told Tokio, was to think of the motion as 'rolling the trigger,' because that described the smooth, consistent, uniform pressure that must be applied. Although you didn't want the shot itself to truly be a surprise, you did want the exact instant of the shot to surprise you, so you didn't anticipate it and convulsively jerk the shot off target. Tokio's mind was on overload. There was just too much to remember technique wise. Even though she had concentrated on her aim yesterday, she suspected that her shot was accurate because of luck.

The best way to master the trigger pull, once you knew what it was supposed to be, was to practice it over and over. Dry-fire, or 'clicking' the empty gun, was the best way to practice. The position of the sights when the gun went 'click' told the shooter whether the shot would have been on target or not. The more dry repetitions performed, the more the proper trigger pull would be ingrained into a person's mind and body to the point where it could be done perfectly in an emergency situation without consciously thinking about the details.

All of her father's lessons and bits of wisdom crowded together in her mind. She hardly knew where to start. She could just go and aim at the targets the captain had set up. But she felt she should at least practice her stance and she needed to get used to the feel of the trigger mechanisms on these new guns of hers by doing some dry-firing. After all, Tokio had no experience with the new, high powered type of automatic gun that the captain had chosen for her.

When she was just learning to shoot, her father helped her. He instructed her to take a strong stance, had her grasp the gun firmly, holding it on target. Next he told her to barely touch the trigger with her index finger and then to let that finger go limp. Kojuurou then placed his gun hand over her small one, his trigger finger over hers, letting his finger press hers straight back against the trigger. After several repetitions of this Tokio felt what it was like to make the perfect shot.

The second step of practice had the two of them pulling the trigger together at the same pace. During the third step, her father let Tokio's finger pull the trigger with his trigger finger lightly touching hers to monitor its progress. Finally, Kojuurou sat back and watched his daughter perform by herself, only correcting her when necessary.

The sound from Captain Saitoh's laser sight drew her away from her memories and her mental review. She looked at him, his weapon in hand, safety off, laser sight humming.

_"Ready?" _he asked.

The vest clad Tokio, her bare arms beginning to get a mild case of goose bumps, spoke clearly to the man beside her, "No, Captain Saitoh, I'm sorry; I'm not ready yet. It has been a very long time since I've had any formal target practice, so I'm not sure that I'll be able to execute the correct technique." She bit her bottom lip, trying to find the words for her next request, "Would you mind helping me with my stance, so I can be properly positioned, and then with some dry-firing of this automatic? I've never used a gun of this caliber before, and I would like to get the feel of the trigger before I use any live ammunition."

(All of the shooting techniques paraphrased in this post are from 'How to Shoot a Handgun Accurately' by Massad Ayoob .)

**Saitoh**

"Of course," Saitoh nodded, flicking off the laser sight with his thumb and depositing the handgun back in the holster on his hip. He then took of the ear and eye protectors and set them aside on the table where Takagi had put her purse and blouse. He waited until Takagi had done the same and had emptied her weapon of live ammunition.

He watched her carefully, noticed a slight hesitation while working the clip, and no hesitation at all handling the rounds. (She's unsure about the caliber of the gun, not about handling a weapon in and of itself…she's already proven her capabilities in that regard) He'd reviewed the coroner's report of the man she'd killed and examined both the entry and exit wounds, noting that the head shot had been less than a quarter inch off dead (all puns intended) center of the man's forehead without any mean angle of deviation, an impressive shot considering she'd been firing a high caliber weapon, in the dark, and at a distance of nearly fifteen feet. It has been a neat, technical shot.

Saitoh looked at the woman and suspected that her shooting technique would be equally technical, precise and absolutely by the book, which suited him just fine. Saitoh had precious little patience for psychologists, counselors (school counselors in particular), head shrinks and the twits in HR that kept trying to give all the employees personality tests and social categorizations. (Give someone a gun, watch them shoot at a target for an hour or two and that's all the profiling you need.) Hasty people shot in a hasty manner, with little thought to aim, stance and posture. Anal-retentive bean counters wasted time measuring and calculating and fiddling with any knob they could get their fingers on. Those with anger issues or performance anxiety fired off rounds too quickly while those who lacked confidence dawdled and delayed for fear of making a mistake.

(And then there are the people who should not be let anywhere near anything more dangerous than a slightly bent teaspoon)

Saitoh had encountered damaged souls coming into the department, men and women whose psyche's had been corrupted and corroded for a multitude of reasons that a background check may not have picked up on. They tended to be excellent shots and took careful, deliberate aim at their targets. It was only when they fired the weapon that their true intent was revealed through their emotions. Pleasure, nearly sexual in its intensity, dark satisfaction and a hunger for more, was usually what they silently broadcasted as round after round tore through targets. There was a desire to maim, to rend, to completely and utterly destroy the target. Often the shooter would aim repeatedly at one part of the body, the head, the heart or the groin region and blow it away.

If Saitoh picked up on said emotions, he'd do a careful background check on the individual, one that went back to childhood. More often than not, a carefully hidden history of violence was revealed, usually with the new officer being a victim in some way, shape or form. These officers who found such savage delight in shooting never made it past the probationary period on his squadron, he made sure of it. A few were able to get transfers to a different group (Squadron 2 was led by such a man and had several officers that fell into this category), but most left on their own accord, eager to get away from their asshole of a Captain.

"Let me see your shooting stance," Saitoh said quietly, his expression intense as he watched her move into position. She was right handed (he was a southpaw) and preferred a two handed approach, which was wise, considering the higher caliber of weapon she'd be using. Her stance was strong and her body position nearly perfect.

Circling the woman, he came to stand close behind her. "Your stance is excellent, but needs to be adjusted to compensate for the higher caliber. He placed his hands on her lower back, "tilt your hips forward about five degrees," he felt the subtle but important shift in balance and shifted his grip up, higher until his hands were on her slender shoulders. They were cold. Without thinking, he rubbed them slightly, transferring heat from his hands to the chilled skin. "Your shoulders are too far back. Please move them forward a little…think nose over toes," He gave her shoulders a little squeeze when her positioning was perfect. "Yes, that's it. This will help with the greater recoil."

He then put his hands back on her waist, motioning for her to bend slightly, and then straighten, ensuring that her center of balance was spot on. "Pivot to the right. Now to the left." Saitoh felt the muscles tighten and relax as she shifted her aim in both directions, and forced himself (or at least try very hard) not to notice the curves beneath his hands. "The targets you'll need to worry about will be anything but static, Takagi-san. This positioning will allow you to move more rapidly without sacrificing your aim. We'll work on this later."

Saitoh moved into position, slightly behind and to the side of the woman. "Let's do some dry-firing now, get you used to this new piece." He was thankful she was tall (perfect in fact) and that his lanky frame didn't completely overwhelm hers as he reached placing his hand over Takagi's, his trigger finger sliding atop hers. He aimed carefully, then exhaled and timing the shot to the beat of his heart, pulled the trigger straight back.

"Feel the difference in recoil?" he asked quietly, as he fired the weapon again…and again and again for several silent minutes, each pull even and steady. This was critical, that she develop proper muscle memory, so that in a life or death situation, her body would know what to do and would already be responding before conscious thought kicked in. (She needs every advantage she can get…) Saitoh frowned, the faint stirrings of anger igniting at the mere idea of Takagi being forced to kill, lest she be killed. He stepped closer, instinctively trying to shield the woman.

"Together now," he said gruffly, forcing his thoughts away from horrible "what-if" scenarios. There was no place for conjecture, only room for here and now. He felt Takagi's finger find firmer purchase on the trigger, he met the pressure with a little of his own and in tandem they fired the gun. "Good," he nodded, "adjust your aim slightly to compensate for the added weight of the weapon."

For several more minutes, they worked together, moving in perfect unison. Takagi was doing well. He could feel her confidence increase along with her accuracy. Saitoh carefully began to transfer the primary firing to the woman, his grip becoming looser while hers became firmer. Finally, he moved to slide his hand away from the weapon, his finger sliding slowly down Takagi's as he began to withdraw.

Saitoh bit the inside of his cheek when Takagi responded, adjusting her stance and grip, the motion causing her backside to brush up again his front. He couldn't fault her, she was a natural at this and her positioning was absolutely perfect for the task at hand. His body agreed with this assessment. Ignoring stirrings of an entirely different nature, Saitoh refocused on the task at hand and went for another tandem pull, and then another, not wanting to cause any undue disruption.

He felt a fine tremor move up Takagi's back and down her arm. She adjusted her stance. So did he, trying to compensate for the slight change in her arm's angle. Their hips touched. Saitoh's grip on the gun tightened. He heard a gasp and wasn't sure if it came from him, from her or both of them.

(Get a grip, Moron!) He thought, furiously.

The problem was that he did have a grip, his bare hand and arm tight against Takagi's. Another tremor ran through her body, this one stronger than the first two. He tried to steady her by putting one arm around her waist, a maneuver that was not uncommon when teaching marksmanship with a smaller shooter. She stiffened for a second, and then relaxed suddenly, the steel in her spine becoming supple as she settled against him.

Saitoh's heart skipped a beat, then gave up beating entirely, preferring instead to do a fine impersonation of a jackhammer on AMP, when he caught the faintest hint of perfume in the air. (Hells Bells) His grip on her waist tightened while his grip on the gun began to go lax.

"Gun down," he rasped, sliding his hand away from the gun's trigger and Takagi's finger. "We need to take a break," (Before something other than a gun goes off…) He glanced down at Takagi's face and wondered if it mirrored his own, "as it's clear that neither of us could hit the side of a damn city bus in our current state."

She was going to apologize. Saitoh shook his head, beating her to it. "Don't," he said, his voice surprisingly compassionate, "you've done nothing wrong." He took a step away, letting his hand fall to his side. "Neither have I, aside from letting that perfume you're wearing distract me."

He gave her a sly, appreciative smile, "It suits you."

Saitoh let Takagi ponder on the merits of cherry blossom scented olfactory offerings while he took his gun and checked the laser sights on it and prepped it for live firing while waiting for her to load hers. "You're ready to try live rounds," he said once both were armed and wearing the requisite protective gear. He motioned for her to come stand by him, allowing her to choose the proximity. A masculine part of him was pleased when she stepped close, despite the fact that her face was still flushed, her cheeks as pink as the blossoms of her perfume.

(She's nervous….) he realized with a pang. (I can't have that.) From a practical standpoint, it would interfere with her shooting. From a personal standpoint, it was imperative that she understand that she had nothing to fear from him, that he was and would always put her needs first.

"Give me your hand," he reached for her, quietly adding (for her and her alone) a "please," When her hand was in his, he turned his hand over so that her fingers were resting on the pulse point at the juncture of his wrist and arm. He mirrored the action, so that they could feel each other's pulse.

"Your heart is racing," he commented, knowing that she could feel that his was not exactly sedate either, "let's get things slowed down, shall we?" (In more ways than one…) He took a deep breath and closed his eyes, focusing on his breathing, his pulse, her pulse and her breathing patterns.

"You want to fire a gun at the low point of an exhalation, in-between heart beats," he said, forcing his breathing to become slow and even. After a minute he felt his pulse start to decrease. Takagi's did as well. "Find a pattern that you feel comfortable with." He didn't open his eyes, but continued to focus, using the technique that Okita had taught him many years ago to help improve his accuracy in marksmanship (and to help control his damnable temper).

He felt, more than heard Takagi's breathing become slow and relaxed. He matched her rhythm, and as another minute or two passed, his heart began to match hers, her pulse point beating in perfect time with his. Once again in tandem, Saitoh waited a few moments more, then opened his eyes and looked down at the woman standing before him.

She was no longer blushing, but was still breathtakingly beautiful.

"Let me know when you're ready," He said patiently, ready to give her as much time as she needed.

**Tokio**

Tokio wasn't used to using such a powerful side arm, so she was relieved when the Captain agreed to help her dry-fire her new automatic to imprint the proper feel of it in her mind. She knew that eventually, the weapon would need to be used by reflex only, without a conscious thought, if it was going to keep her alive. Both of them removed the protective headwear, and emptied their clips. She faltered slightly as she removed the rounds from hers, not ever having used this model before. She couldn't help but notice that he was watching her, most likely to assess her skills, she thought. He'd only seen her fire at a target once, and that had been what Tokio would term, 'a lucky shot'.

It didn't surprise her that he wanted to check her stance first. That was always step one, the 'foundation', as her father called it. Saitoh showed her how to adjust her balance to compensate for the higher caliber, moving her hips, her shoulders, her waist, even repeating the 'nose over toes' comment, so often said by Kojuurou, until he was satisfied she was centered and could handle the recoil .

His hands left familiar little sensations everywhere they'd made contact with her body, making it very difficult for her to concentrate on his words, especially when he rubbed her cold arms. 'Don't stop' her mind pleaded when he pulled away to give her shoulders a little squeeze to let her know that she was doing well. 'Remember, he always does that to let you know how much he appreciates you,' that little voice inside her echoed.

He talked about non-static targets, moving rapidly without sacrificing her aim before he slid into position behind her. Captain Saitoh then reached down to position his hand over hers so they could begin dry-firing her new automatic, his shirtless arm brushing against her bare arm, leaving a trail of goose-bumps in its wake. If that weren't bad enough, he kept his arm pressed against hers. She knew he needed to do what he was doing. It was really no different than dry-firing with her father, except her father was not Captain Saitoh, a man who elicited –she finally realized- long buried, but good, feelings. The moment their hands made contact, even though she was wearing the ultra thin burn gloves, she could feel his warmth, his strength.

Her mind began to flood with a collage of fleeting images, and she felt that energy again. The static electricity that wasn't; the force that drew her towards him, rather than pushing her away, as a strong dose of static electricity was wont to do. If the fleeting images were not from another time and another place, they were surely a product of her over active, lush imagination. Tokio was sure that if she wasn't already mad –'mad about him?' her mind questioned- it was only a matter of time.

His trigger finger atop hers, the session started. 'Do I feel the recoil?' she asked herself, only to reply that, no, she didn't, but she *was* seeing something in response to the hand that now covered hers. It was a woman, her hand resting on a very swollen belly, trying to negotiate some steep stone steps down to a house, a house in the Bunkyo Ward, she was surprised to realize. A hand, she was sure it was the same one that now guided her trigger finger, helped the woman steady herself, leading her safely down the stairwell to the house.

She felt him exhale before pulling his finger straight back again, pressing her trigger finger along with his against the trigger. He stepped even closer, almost as if he were trying to shield her from some unknown threat. Her finger made firmer contact with the trigger the next time, as they fired as one. For several minutes they worked together moving in perfect unison. She was getting better at this, she felt more confident, she was more accurate, and she felt his body heat more keenly.

Images continued to stream through her mind, as the Captain continued moving their fingers together against the trigger of her automatic. There was a hand covering hers, giving it a little squeeze of assurance when she fretted about a sick child. There were two strong hands trying to warm her toes almost frozen from too much outdoor exposure on a cold Tonami winter day.

In each case, she was sure that the hands she saw were the same ones that touched her now at this moment.

Then she stepped back, brushing against him, a tremor moving through her at the contact. She quickly adjusted her stance only to bump into his hip this time, causing her to let out a gasp and tremble a little more, which caused Saitoh to increase his grip on her gun. Not only did his grip on her hand increase, but his arm slipped around her waist in an attempt to steady her. This movement made her stiffen momentarily before relaxing suddenly, and settling against him as she was slammed with yet another fleeting thought, this time it was one which totally unnerved her.

*She knew* -*She just knew* -Those hands of his had been on places that only a husband dare venture. Her heart quickened. Her face flushed. She tensed again, trying to forget that she was leaning back, pressed against his firm chest, but not wanting to move from where she had involuntarily settled, either. So she held her breath trying to focus on the present, and not on the warm restless feelings that were beginning to stir. She hoped Captain Saitoh couldn't read her mind. She would die of embarrassment if that were the case.

Just before he spoke, his grip on her waist tightened, stirring more unrecognized feelings, while his grip on the gun began to relax.

_"Gun down…We need to take a break," _his raspy voice let out.

'Did he feel it, too?' She asked herself.

_"As it's clear that neither of us could hit the side of a damn city bus in our current state."  
_  
With horror she realized that, yes, she had been that obvious about what she was feeling towards him. Even though he must have sensed her state of mind, knowing what she was thinking, he silenced her words of apology as they began to slip from her lips. As soon as he stepped away from her, creating a distance between them, she regretted the loss. All she really wanted to do, much to her surprise, was to close the distance between them, slip her arms around *his* waist, and pull him to her and not let go for the rest of her life. Being that she was never the aggressor where men were concerned, she was mortified by her thoughts.

He reassured her that she had done nothing wrong, as far as he was concerned, attributing his distraction to the scent of her perfume. She'd never before had a man affected by the way she smelled. When he told her it suited her, she was thankful that she'd purchased it when she was shopping with her friend, Tae, earlier that day. For a reason, that totally escaped her, she had been drawn to the fragrance of sakura while at the department store. Knowing that he liked the aroma, made her want to wear it again…for him, just to please him, she realized. She now fully accepted that there were too many images in her mind for them to be random and without reason or purpose.

Announcing they were ready to try live rounds, he motioned for her to come to him. She was drawn like a child to their favorite candy, her face still fully flushed, her heart beating an erratic rhythm in her chest.

_"Give me your hand….please," _he requested. She complied, as she always had when he asked something of her. Her hand gently in his, he turned his over so her fingers rested above the pulse point of his wrist. He mirrored the action so he could feel the blood flowing through her veins.

_"Your heart is racing…"  
_  
Yes, I know, she wanted to tell him. She had the urge to ask him if he knew why that was so, but she was afraid of where that answer might lead them. As they stood there together in the semi-dark room, feelings…for him…long pushed to the far recesses of her mind were now pushing forward, seeking the light of a new life…'a new life for both of you', that little inner voice trailed.

_"Let's get things slowed down, shall we?"_

But she didn't want to slow things down, not now that she was starting to understand…about him…about them. She knew that there was a natural conclusion for the two of them, but right now it escaped her mind.

He was talking about guns again and firing between heart beats. 'Yes, you moron, that is why you are here' she told herself. You are here for target practice not to explore your emotions…

She knew he was trying to steady her breathing, making it more even, along with her pulse, but that traitorous heart of hers refused to slow down. He invited her to find a pattern that she was comfortable with. Throughout his explanation, she was acutely aware of the feel of his pulse beneath her fingers, beckoning her to match his heart beat, and breathing. Eventually, her breathing began match his.

Taking a very deep breath and exhaling slowly through her parted lips, she knew that this wasn't the first time she had breathed in sync with this man. She could feel it. It must have been something resurfacing from the past he said they'd shared together.

The images were foggy, but she knew that her lower body had been in excruciating, repeating, stabbing pain, like someone was reaching in, and trying to pull her insides out. That was the only way to describe it. He held her from behind, her back pressed against his comforting chest. She could feel his heart beating; she was aware of each breath he took. He had taken her arms, gently rubbing them, whispering in her ear, making her focus only on him, making her shut out everything but his breathing, his heartbeat. He set the pace, she followed. He continued breathing with her, calming her, as those long forgotten waves of pain washed over her before halting abruptly with the cry of an infant…'Tsutomu' a little voice called to her before trailing away.

There was also a glimpse of something else, but this time the rhythm of breathing was not the only rhythm they shared. The breaths were heavy, almost labored, but she couldn't figure out the cause. All she knew was that this breathing was connected to something wonderful, something that she missed very much. But she couldn't quite figure it out. What was this missing something?

As difficult as it was, due to the unbidden resurfacing of memories, she did manage to slow both her heart rate and breathing, relaxing just a little, but only because she had wiped that last memory from her conscious mind. She had the feeling that, whatever she thought she was missing was something that would never lower her heart beat, or her rate of breathing.

"_Let me know when you're ready." _

It was time to focus on the task at hand, target practice. It was time to let go of unfinished business from the past and leave it for later.

After donning their protective headgear and loading live amo, the Captain quickly typed some commands into the console, and two separate digital displays flickered to life. Clearing her mind of everything except what Saitoh, and her father had told her about firing a side arm, she took her stance, her body remembering the now automatic pull pattern of the trigger, the one imprinted in her mind by the in unison pulls of the trigger when his hand covered hers. He turned to her and nodded. With a slight nod of her forehead towards him, she then took the first shot, commencing her practice session.

The attorney had never done any shooting with such realistic target simulations. The captain wasn't kidding when he said they would be anything but static. The digital scenarios perfectly mimicked what an officer would find in the field, even going so far as to have a child pop up and run in front of the intended target just as he was about to be shot. Tokio managed to redirect her gun to miss the kid, but barely, it had been too close for her taste. She would need to concentrate a little harder the next time. She knew that there were many distractions in real life situations, such as the one at the diner yesterday. At the moment there was just one distraction in the room with her. The targets paled in the face of having to concentrate when images of him kept popping up and unnerving her.

When the attorney finished her own simulation -she only scored 91%, not bad she thought for a first try with a new high caliber weapon- she removed her protective headgear and silently watched the man beside her finish his course. Tokio was awestruck. His moves were so smooth, yet precise and swift. It was like watching quicksilver in motion. He never missed a beat, defeating one challenge after another, deftly maneuvering around any innocent bystander the program injected into the action. When he finished, the shooting simulation screen went blank a moment before flashing a perfect score of 100%. She was not surprised in the least. The man was lethal. Woe to anyone who got in his way. She was sure that he would quickly meet out justice to any type of evil that crossed his path, or threatened those he'd taken an oath to protect.

She suddenly was aware of her hands, and the wafer-thin medi-burn gloves that covered them. They were supposed to come off tonight; it took two hands to remove them. There was no one at home to help her. She considered stopping by Bakufu Burgers to see if Tae could take them off for her, but if she couldn't contact the woman by phone, she wouldn't know which of the restaurants her friend would be working at tonight.

**Saitoh**

The barrel of Saitoh's new gun glowed from the heat of the discharged rounds. He frowned, looking at the simulation score, finding no comfort in the accuracy rating.

"Commander Watanabe is going to need to program a new simulator that is a better representation of the speed that we were up against yesterday," he said in a matter of fact tone as he walked over to the SIMUL console, comparing the speed of the simulation with the impossibly rapid movement of a certain red haired waiter from the day before and finding it contemptibly lacking. (How can I expect to teach my officers how to target objects that can't be visually tracked?) While he and a few other members of the force were able, somehow, to find and focus on emotional signatures, most officers lacked the strange talent and had to rely on human senses that were becoming obsolete. "You met her, I think? At the café?"

When Takagi nodded, Saitoh added, "Karen is an exceptional officer and a trustworthy individual." There was in his mind, no higher praise. "In light of recent events, she has offered to assist you in securing acceptable home security and communication systems. I would advise you to take her up on her offer and refrain from sending / receiving any sensitive information from your home until you're absolutely sure that everything is secure."

This was another part of his offer of protection, a component that Watanabe herself had volunteered for, claiming that she owed Takagi a favor for saving his sorry hide the day before. It was the way his squad operated, each member looking out for each other. Watanabe handled cyber security, he oversaw physical training and weapons procurement, Hondo led the effort to protect family members of high visibility / undercover employees while Yamaguchi, a tender hearted young woman who also happened to be a ridiculously adept sniper, was tasked with providing first line support and assistance to the families when they all failed and an officer was killed or maimed in the line of duty. It was a decidedly non-formal arrangement, but it kept people alive and had resulted in Saitoh's squadron having the lowest mortality rates for five years running.

(Karen knows that I….) he snuck a glance over at Takagi. She was looking down at her burn bandages, her expression unreadable in the low light of the firing range. He looked at her little hands, her fingers that were still burned and painful. It made his heart ache to know that she'd already suffered harm on his behalf. (…she knows that I care for the woman and am determined to keep her safe at all costs) He inwardly smirked, wondering how Karen would react if she knew the true depth of his feelings where the prosecuting attorney was concerned. (Hell, she'd never let Takagi out of her sight…)

Saitoh wisely didn't mention that if he had his way, he wouldn't let her out of his sight, either. Leaving her to fend for herself went contrary to his instincts and going contrary to his instincts had always proven to be a very bad idea.

(Idiot – what else can be done at this point in time?)

While the idea of picking her up over his shoulder and squirreling her away in a safe location until he was able to hunt down and destroy anyone who intended her harm held an undeniable degree of appeal, it was also impractical, illegal and would probably scare the pants off the poor woman.

For an instant, an image of the lovely woman sans trousers, wearing nothing more than a smile and some of that elusive perfume popped into his head. Saitoh inwardly smacked himself (twice for good measure) and forced the rather creative but inappropriate visual image back down where it belonged, thankful that his shooting partner wasn't a mind reader. (Apparently I'll be taking a cold shower this evening…) he thought as he punched in a retrieval command and carefully studied the ballistics report on Takagi's simulation.

Saitoh encrypted and sent Takagi an email with her test results, one that a cracker would be hard pressed to open.

"There isn't an alarm or communications company in the city that doesn't have syndicate ties. DOJ Employee Intel gets sold within days of a hiring or transfer and sold to the highest bidder, despite HR's 'best efforts' to prevent the practice," He sneered, his opinion as to HR's actual interest in controlling critical data loss apparent, and scrolled down, reading over the ballistic analysis with a practiced eye. "It goes without saying that the data set for the sister of Takagi Morinosuke, and a prosecutor with one of the highest conviction rates in the country was eagerly anticipated."

His expression became hard and predatory, the sort of look that in another age, would have precipitated a beheading or disemboweling. "This morning we were able to track down the clerk who compromised your information, along with the records of thirty-six other employees. We've been tracking her for a month, trying to get enough evidence to make an arrest. Unfortunately, she's the niece of a finance minister and was only removed from her position." Saitoh shook his head, his frustration palpable. He'd pushed hard to have her arrested, but powerful family connections had given the duplicitous little shit the near equivalent of diplomatic immunity.

"Hopefully we'll have better luck apprehending the morons she sold the information to," he hated losing quarry, especially due to something as moronic as politics. "We lost a judge this week, and an officer and his partner the week before. Something has to give…and by damn it's not going to be us."

Saitoh exhaled wearily, then turned away from the terminal and walked over to where Takagi was standing. "In the meantime," he began, turning the conversation to something more pleasant, namely how well she'd be able to shoot and kill an aggressor, "you're pulling a little to the left, which is to be expected considering the new caliber of weapon. Your stance and technique are damn near perfect. Your accuracy rates are good, for a prosecuting attorney who works in Yokohama, but are not quiet lethal enough for New Meiji. This will be corrected. I'll help you."

Saitoh reached out and brushed back an errant lock of hair that had gotten caught on her armor. "Before long you'll be able to hand a tactical officer his ass on the firing range," he promised, a pleased smirk starting to form at the thought of the slender attorney outshooting some of the media hungry windbags that he worked with. He let his hand linger in her hair for a moment, lightly rubbing an inky strand between his thumb and forefinger. Her hair was soft. Shiny. He wondered if the tresses still smelled the same as in his memories, a beguiling mixture of the scent of her body, flower blossoms and black Aizu pine needles.

He was half tempted to lean over and verify his suspicious, but that would likely lead to other inquires, namely whether her lips were soft, her tongue warm and her taste…

The lights flickered, flared and then went dark. Saitoh frowned and immediately took a step closer to the woman. Emergency lights flickered on, bathing both he and Takagi in blood red light. This was strange. There were generators in the building that should have guaranteed a steady supply of power. Just as suddenly, the emergency lights failed all together. Plunged into darkness, he put an arm around Takagi and brought her up against him, then reached into a pocket on his trousers and pulled out a small halogen hand light, turning it on with a soft click.

Saitoh kept waiting to hear alarms going off, but nothing happened and they remained in the dark for a minute, perhaps two. Finally, there was a single claxon that sounded somewhere up a level and a couple of seconds later, regular lights kicked back on as if nothing had gone awry. The simulator computer automatically rebooted.

Saitoh looked up at the lights, his expression almost as dark as it had just been. "That was interesting," he dryly commented, clearly curious as to what had caused the strange power fluctuations. Takagi shifted against him.

(Speaking of interesting power fluctuations….)

His arm was still around her and as the power had failed, he'd pulled her into what could well be considered an embrace. She'd moved as well, placing one of her hands on his bare shoulder, her fingers covering the partially faded military tattoo that he'd foolishly woken up with after a night of drinking with his company. He was grateful that the company mascot had been a ravening wolf (he'd always been rather partial to the beasts for some reason) and that he'd not come crawling back to base with a tattoo of Tinkerbelle on his ass.

Saitoh looked down at the woman. He could feel that her bandaged hands were chilled, and detected soft shudders moving through her body. He frowned a little, unsure what to make of it. "You're trembling," he pointed out, as he clicked the hand lamp off and put it away, the bluntness of his words at odds with the tender way he covered her bandaged hand with his much warmer one. "It is because you're cold, or because I'm holding you?" His hand around her waist, however, stayed put as he waited for her answer.

**Tokio**

The attorney was dismayed to learn that the current firing range simulations didn't truly approximate the speed that the attackers used yesterday, during the blood bath at the diner. It was hard enough for her to keep up with what popped up on the screen today. She dreaded what her scores would look like with a motion enhanced version. She knew she had no choice, though. To not practice at the speeds used by the drugged thugs on the street was a sure death sentence for any officer of the law, or prosecuting attorney.

Tokio listened carefully to what the captain said about Commander Wantanabe, happy to learn the identity of another trustworthy individual. Her brother, Mori, told her they were few and far between here in New Meiji. It never hurt to know who you could turn to when the chips were in the gutter. By this time Tokio was confident that any officers in Saitoh's squadron would be beyond reproach. The prosecutor only barely remembered the woman from the café. She had been so distracted yesterday, not only by what happened inside the building, but also by what happened inside her head.

It was obvious that Captain Saitoh realized yesterday that the hit on the diner was to claim Tokio's life, he as much as told her that on the way to the armory today. The fact that Wantanabe offered to put a safety plan in place for her, only confirmed it. Tokio was mildly curious as to why Wantanabe would offer to do something for a complete stranger. Perhaps the Captain asked for a volunteer, and she was it. Tokio supposed that keeping DOJ personnel safe was a part of Saitoh's job description. However, that now familiar little voice in her head reminded her that his warnings to her about wearing her new body armor seemed to come from a more personal concern, than from duty alone.

She wondered if that 'personal concern' had anything to do with the wife business he talked about earlier. She also wondered about his intent for the future. He did tell her that he would not ask anything of her, that she wasn't completely willing to give him, and that his intentions towards her would always be honorable. She pondered his words, knowing that they could hold several different meanings, one being that, past wife or not, he wouldn't touch her, and he hadn't, not really. But to her their occasional physical contact seemed a little more than just accidental or platonic. Perhaps she was reading more into it than the situation warranted. She hoped she wasn't. She hoped that he was showing at least a mild interest in her, because she really did want to get to know him better, regardless of whether it led anywhere or not.

But what *was* she willing to give him; that was the question. At this point did she even know? Not entirely, she answered to herself. Sighing, she realized that, unlike any other, she would not have to worry about him being put in danger because of her job. She dated, but she wasn't what one would call 'forward' with men. But being around him seemed so comfortable, so normal, so right.

A cold knot formed in her stomach as he revealed how her personal information had been compromised by a DOJ employee. She also noted with dismay that he knew about her trial conviction record, something that was supposed to be kept a secret, so she could take this low profile job and not draw any attention to herself. So much for her brother's brilliant plans to keep his personal spy undercover.

Tokio's jaw clenched when she learned that the little snitch, who released the sensitive personal information for so many people, got away with it without consequence due to her uncle's government position. Things like that made the attorney angry, very angry. Her whole career to this point was to make people who did that kind of evil pay the proper price for endangering the lives of innocents.

Her voice took on a hard edge, her grey eyes glinting like steel, as she looked at Saitoh, "I will get her. I don't care who she is related to. I will find some way to hold her accountable for her actions." Even if I have to put a hit out on her myself, she thought. Of course she wouldn't, but no one could prevent her from wishing that she could.

She paid attention to his critique of her shooting. She'd have to watch that pulling to the left business. No wonder she only scored in the low nineties. Tokio nodded in agreement at his offer to help her gain more accuracy, not surprised that he was still willing to help her, since he had promised to do all he could to help her stay safe.

His fingers in her hair brought a soft light to her eyes, making her wonder just what was going through the man's head at the moment. That little voice in her mind answered her question, 'you *know* very well what is going through Hajime's mind when he looks at you like that and starts playing with your hair.'

The events of the day were already bordering on the bizarre when the firing range lights blinked out. Instinctively, she reached for the one person she *knew* would protect her. Tokio had latched onto one of the tall officer's shoulders with a death-like grip, burying her forehead in his armor covered chest, trembling like a leaf, as a reassuring arm slipped around her waist and pulled her tightly against him. The leftover stress from yesterday, that she had been bravely suppressing, finally bubbled to the surface.

_"You're trembling," _he pointed out.

"I know," she responded, her voice a mere whisper.

"_It is because you're cold, or because I'm holding you?"_

"To be honest, Captain Saitoh," Tokio began, her voice a little stronger but trembling slightly, "I think it's a little of both. I'm still a bit on-edge after what happened at the diner yesterday. The memory chills me to the bone, so when the lights went out I guess I panicked a little and over reacted. I'm sorry and…well," she hesitated as though she was considering her words carefully.

"I am so confused" she admitted. "I only met you 24 hrs ago, but I feel like I know you. I feel safe with you. When you touch me, it feels so normal; it feels right and it scares me. I have never been forward with a man before, but when you let go of me, it feels like I have lost something very precious to me." She was sure that he would think she was crazy for saying something like that. She *had* to be crazy to admit these things to him, when she'd just met him. Where were these ideas coming from?

Tokio could not help but continue to blurt out what was on her mind, as she was enveloped in the safety of his one arm embrace. "While we have been down here practicing, I've had a lot of things stream through my head. None are very clear, but I know that I can no longer think of them as just some random thoughts without meaning. I ….when you told me we had been…" Tokio stopped short, not sure where she intended to go with this conversation, but relieved that he still had a hold on her. Her forehead did not move from where it rested on his chest. Her breathing became ragged when she felt a soft pressure on the top of her head.

Saitoh leaned down, gently resting his chin on the crown of her head. Her arm slipped off his shoulder, only to reposition itself, along with its mate, around his waist. In response he added his other arm to the embrace, pulling her even closer. Her head still tucked gently beneath his chin, the two stood, unmoving, not wanting to break the moment.

Eventually, Tokio starting talking again, her voice soft but steady. She needed to start at the beginning, "Ever since I met you yesterday, I've been having some strange feelings. I've also been having…" she paused. No, they weren't really memories; it was more like, "…fleeting images run through my mind. Originally, I thought they were just some random nonsense, but now I think there may be more to them. I was wondering…about what you said earlier in your office," surely he would figure out what she was talking about, "Do you think this -whatever it is that is happening to me- could be related to…to….what you….what you said about us?"

Something was going on here, and it had nothing to do with drugs. If she wasn't crazy, what was the explanation, because everything in this world, in Tokio's opinion, had rhyme and reason to it.

**Saitoh**

If someone had told Saitoh Hajime that he'd be spending part of his evening ten stories below ground, shirtless with an attorney in his arms, he would have slapped the person silly and then dragged them off for a full TOX panel.

And yet here he was. Yare, Yare…Reality was stranger than fiction, it seemed.

(Okita would have an aneurism from laughing so hard…) Saitoh thought rather peevishly, wondering for the hundredth time where his old partner had disappeared to. Realistically, he knew that his best friend was probably dead, yet another casualty in the undeclared war for New Meiji. Never one for watching from the sidelines, Okita had understood before most that they were in the midst of a battle, one that was being waged for the heart and soul of a society and had, with sunny, almost obnoxious optimism that at times set Saitoh's cynical teeth on edge, done everything he could to ensure that the right side of the grinding conflict was victorious.

In the months and weeks leading up to his disappearance, Okita had fought ferociously to keep one heart and soul in particular from falling through the cracks, a heart that was broken and soul that was shaken off its very foundations. (I hated him for it…wished he'd leave me the hell alone and let me finish what I'd started during the war…) It was Okita who came to pick him up for work, made him eat, drove him home after finding him holed up by himself in some seedy bar, held his head and kept his airway clear when he was passed out so he didn't aspirate on vomit that stank of hard liquor and despair.

The last time he'd spoken to his friend, it had been in terrible anger. Okita had tried to introduce him to a woman, a kind faced nurse who'd lost her husband the year before in a traffic accident, perhaps hoping that the company of another might help take the edge off his grief and anger. It had been an unfortunate miscalculation on his friend's part, one that had resulted in the nurse driving off in tears after Saitoh had verbally savaged her, and two men, two old friends fighting.

(You told me I needed to move on with my life) Saitoh recalled, (I threatened to take yours from you for daring to suggest that anyone could replace Yaso…) The thought at the time had been nothing short of blasphemous and had triggered Saitoh's white hot temper. Things were said that shouldn't have been on both sides and the two men parted ways, their friendship nearly as battered as their bruised knuckles.

(You were right, Okita) Saitoh conceded the battle to his missing friend, never so glad as to be on the losing side of an argument. (It is time…past time…I move on) Not from Yaso's memory. He understood that now, sobriety and the struggle of raising two children alone having refined his thought processes on the matter. And while it was too soon for him to understand how things would ultimately play out with Takagi, he already knew that she was a force for good in his life, that she was already bringing out a side of him rarely seen by others, an aspect of himself that he'd given up for lost until he'd stopped into a café for a badly needed cup of coffee and reacquainted himself with a singularly remarkable woman.

(First things first however…)

_"I am so confused…I only met you 24 hours ago, but I feel like I know you. I feel safe with you. When you touch me, it feels so normal; it feels right and it scares me. I have never been forward with a man before, but when you let go of me, it feels like I have lost something very precious to me."  
_  
Understanding a thing or two about losing something….someone precious, Saitoh leaned down, resting his chin on the ink black crown of the Takagi's head, closing his eyes in relief as the well-remembered (and keenly missed) scent of pine needles and blossoms washed over him. She was trembling against him, her emotions crashing and breaking like white capped waves against a rugged, rocky coastline.

He drew her closer, not wanting her to be cold or afraid. (She is sadly no stranger to either of these things…) Without warning, a razor sharp memory of her blossomed in the back of his mind. He could see her pulling a threadbare kimono tight around her slender frame, stumbling in deep snow, her face wan and thin from a lack of food and exposure. This memory was followed by a more recent recollection of her clinging to him in the diner, her eyes wide with horror as she watched men slaughtered.

"There are many things and people in New Meiji that you should be wary and uncertain of, Takagi-san," He said softly, yet seriously, lightly brushing his lips against the crown of her hair. It was an unconscious action, a long forgotten habit that kicked in at the mere idea of her being distressed. "I am not one of them. I would rather die than see you come to harm." Considering the promise he'd given her and in light of her precarious position within the DOJ, his words were not empty.

His stoic heart skipped a beat when Takagi embraced him. (I'll be damned…) It did feel natural, surprisingly so. Testing this theory, he mirrored her, taking what she wordlessly offered and bringing her close. Ignoring a snide voice in the back of his mind (that sounded vaguely like his older sister) that he was being moronically sentimental; he savored the sensation of holding someone and being held. Three years was a long time to be without such comfort, even if you were a mal-tempered, chain smoking asshole.

He listed as she spoke of strange feelings, of experiencing fleeting images that he knew she was reluctant to call memories. He could tell that she was still struggling to make sense of a surreal situation, of a bond and a connection with him that defied conventional logic. He didn't blame her. He was also struggling with long buried emotions. Her self-doubt and propensity to apologize for putting her hands on him would have to stop, however.

_"Do you think this, whatever it is that is happening to me, could be related to what you said about us?"_

Saitoh pulled away just a little, so he could look carefully into her eyes. Men and women had wilted under his penetrating gaze, but she to her credit held steady. He could see confusion, hope, fear and desire in her gaze, but no hint of prevarication. He had always been wary of lawyers, mindful that a smart attorney could weave believable stories out of falsehoods and leave gaping wounds that he'd be hard pressed to duplicate with an automatic firearm. He saw no trace of that in this woman, no sign of her being anything but absolutely honest with him.

This was critical. Her life and eventually his, if she chose to walk beside him, would depend on such candor.

"You already know the answer to your question, Takagi-san," he said, his deep voice echoing slightly in the nearly empty shooting range, "but have not yet reconciled yourself to that knowledge." Never one to mince words he continued, "You're an intelligent woman and based on your case history, a formidable attorney."

His expression darkened with predatory satisfaction as he recalled the ruthless gleam in her steely eyes as she'd vowed to bring the woman, who'd compromised the safety of so many DOJ employees, to justice. She had a vicious streak in her, one that mirrored his own, and allowed her to face down powerful, dangerous criminals without batting her pretty eyelashes, "Cross examine yourself in this matter, the way you would a witness on the stand. Question this connection we share, examine what evidence is available to you. I am confident that you will find it…that you will find us….able to withstand the scrutiny."

While his words were professional and detached, the way his arms tightened around her slender waist and pulled her tight against him were anything but clinical. He could feel her heart beating like a drum beneath her body armor and was sure she could sense that his heartbeat had synched itself with hers.

"In my office I shared a theory. Test it. Test me. Look for and expose any weakness of thinking, any flaw that you can find. There is too much on the line for both of us not to be thorough." He didn't want her to be frightened and filled with doubt. Not where he was concerned. It was imperative that she understood his motives, that he was as honest with her as she had been with him. "Once you have come to an awareness of the truth, pursue it relentlessly, leaving no room for regret and doubt."

For a moment, he allowed his expression to become completely unguarded, for her to clearly see the ferocious regard and desire he held for her person, and perhaps if she was perceptive, catch a glimpse of the hope and relief he felt at having finally found her. "I will give you the time you need and the safety you require to come to an understanding. So relax, and quit apologizing for being too forward."

He gave her a crooked, sly grin, his eyes glinting with banked amusement at the notion he'd ever complain if she put her hands on him, "I'm not easily offended and I don't bite…much."

**Tokio**

His lips softly caressing her hair and his confession that he 'would rather die' than see her come to harm caused her heart to admit that, yes, she already knew the answer to her question. All these strange things were most definitely connected to what he said in his office about a past that she had shared with him. But he was right –as he always was- that she had not reconciled herself to what she desperately wanted to be the truth. He always did know you better than you knew yourself, that little voice reminded her.

_"Cross examine yourself…the way you would a witness on the stand. Question this connection we share, examine what evidence is available to you…I shared a theory. Test it. Test me…expose any weakness of thinking, any flaw that you can find…Once you have come to an awareness of the truth, pursue it relentlessly…"  
_  
Tokio, being Tokio, her mind always took the paths named logic and reason. To accept his theory as truth she needed to question, to review, and to make sense of something that seemed totally unbelievable by human standards. But his arms tightening around her gave her the strength she needed to examine, to understand and to conclude. She felt like he had faith in her. She felt that he was confident that she would find him at the end of her journey. In her heart she wanted nothing but that.

Her eyes widened at his unguarded expression, knowing that he was showing a part of himself that he rarely, if ever, showed another living soul. His countenance seemed to be laced with desire, hope and relief, all at the same time. His words were ringing in her ears, especially the part about how she should _'quit apologizing for being too forward' _with him. The little voice in her head was telling her that there was no way –from his point of view- that she could be too forward with him, because he would accept all that she was willing to give and more. This thought was both comforting and unsettling. He may have been married in this life, but she hadn't been. Dealing with a serious, and most likely intimate relationship, was going to take some getting used to on her part, if that is where this path of discovery led them. His words telling her that he would give her the time she needed to come to an understanding reassured her that he would never push her into something she was not ready to pursue.

Her face flushed when he quipped that he _'didn't bite…much'_. She almost raised a hand to rub at a spot at the base of her neck that all of a sudden felt sensitive. She needed to push these particular thoughts about him out of her mind right now, because putting his theory to the test was the most important task at the moment. He was right, there was too much at stake for both of them not to be thorough.

He wanted her to be relentless, did he? She would be. She would actually be ruthless and demand that he give her answers. If he wanted her to test him, he had better be ready, because that was exactly what she planned to do.

His invitation could not be clearer. The man practically challenged her to put both of them on the witness stand and examine any information that was available. At least she wouldn't have to have him sworn in, she mused to herself. The attorney had no doubt that Captain Saitoh would tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.

So what did she want to hear? Did she want some corroborating evidence? Yes, she did. There was only one other person on this earth who could verify that these 'things', 'visions', 'happenings' or whatever label she chose to use, were actually memories from a past life they shared. He was standing there holding her, telling her to pursue the truth, to cross examine until she was satisfied. She would. Cocooned in his warm embrace she felt safe, she felt like she belonged, and she felt that she could do anything she set her mind on doing.

Although he pulled back a little so they could speak, he didn't let go of her. "So you won't mind if I ask you about some of these things that have been destroying my rational though for last 24 hours?" If what he said about them being married in the past were true, he should be able to shed light on what she was beginning to suspect were incomplete memories of events in that life.

"I will assume for sake of argument, that the woman, who has appeared in these mental apparitions of mine, is me."

Looking directly at him, she began her inquiry, "In these visions I've seen someone's hands; I suspect that they are yours, if your theory about us is correct. I have felt them on my shoulders giving me a little squeeze to let me know that what I did was appreciated. Is that something you used to do to me?"

She continued, "There was also a time when I think I was worried about a feverish child. One of your hands covered one of mine, squeezing it in assurance that all would be well."

Tokio decided she wasn't going to reveal to him that she knew those hands had taken a husband's prerogative, as far as where they roamed. That was too much to reveal at this stage of the investigation, and it would only distract her from her current line of questioning. But earlier she was struck by the thought that they'd been where only a husband dared to tread. On top of that, when he readjusted her underwear, it felt like he'd done it to her many times before. It felt so normal, so natural, and it really didn't embarrass her when it certainly should have.

Then there was that 'hands playing with her hair business,' she figured she would ask about this one. "You liked to play with my hair didn't you? And it always, or usually, led to something else, didn't it?" But did she want to know where it led? The feelings associated with his fingers lacing through her long, black hair were very warm and pleasant, but there was no other clear memory associated with it.

The prosecutor was gradually coming to terms that these were bits and pieces, shreds really, of something long hidden deep in her mind. Yesterday in the diner, Tokio foolishly wondered what it would be like to be Saitoh's wife. Having such a thought about a total stranger completely unnerved her at the time, especially when a little voice echoed fleetingly in her mind, 'You already are…" This was another thing that she wasn't quite ready to reveal to him.

She then proceeded to relate another image, "I think I was in Tonami at the time, and I must have spent too much time out in the snow because my toes were freezing; they felt almost cold enough to be frost bitten. A pair of hands rubbed my feet to warm them. What do you know about that?" she questioned in a very matter of fact way.

She wasn't finished yet. There were things from yesterday that she needed to express. That was when all of this very strange business started. She even remembered calling him, Hajime, when she had absolutely no idea what his name was, having only laid eyes on him no more than a half an hour before. If that didn't indicate some sort of familiarity with him, nothing would.

"Yesterday in the diner I saw you dressed in blue and white with a top knot, carrying a katana. You were Shinsengumi, during the Bakumatsu, weren't you?" she blurted out. It wasn't until today that she had connected the dots to realize that little fact.

"I also knew that it was hopeless to try to talk you out of doing anything dangerous at the diner, because you were so bound by duty that you had no choice but to act accordingly."

"Another odd thing was, that yesterday, I obeyed you without question, something that I never do, not even with my father or brother." No, she was always giving people the 5th degree wanting to know the 'whys' and 'hows' of every request. But that was not the case with Captain Saitoh in the cafe. She did exactly what he said, as though she was a member of his squad, 'or an obedient Meiji era wife', that little voice chimed in.

She had pelted him with a lot, but he was the only corroborating witness to all that had passed between them. If his theory was correct, she knew that he would have an answer or further explanation for all that she had peppered him with, because he seemed to remember more than she did about their shared life.

"One more thing from yesterday," her voice trembled slightly, "I was afraid of losing you again, because the last time I did, I had to spend six years without you." She had no clue what that was about; she truly hoped that he did.

With a smirk on her lips and playful look in her grey eyes, she couldn't resist adding something else before she finished, "Under what circumstances did I refer to you as an 'ornery old wolf'? Did I do it very often?" Perhaps the man would dance around the answer to this one. What man wants to admit that his wife gets so exasperated with him that she would say something like *that*? Gads…Was she already thinking in terms of being *his* wife? It was much too soon for that, and she knew it.

Not breaking eye contact, she gave him an expectant look, wondering what he would say about everything she had just dumped on him. With her arms still around his waist, she couldn't help but think of him as her anchor and a bridge between the past and the present.

**Saitoh**

"_I will assume for sake of argument, that the woman, who has appeared in these mental apparitions of mine, is me."  
_  
Saitoh snorted; amused at how the woman's demeanor had done a 180 in less than the time it had taken her to unload her list of questions. Gone was the trembling, wide eyed innocent who'd softly gasped when he'd brushed his lips against the crown of her head and clung to him like her life depended on it during the power outage. That Tokio had been sublimated by another, a woman whose eyes were defiant, the shade akin to tempered steel. She was direct in her communication and almost aggressive in her line of questioning. Saitoh was hard pressed to recall the last time a woman had been this direct with him in matters of a personal nature.

Strange thing was…he liked it.

(I only have myself to blame…) he thought, fascinated with the wildly different facets of this woman's personality. (I told her to test this theory and test me, and by damn she's doing just that…) While the modest and shy woman with beguiling perfume reminded him strongly of the woman in his memories, there were aspects of the sharp minded attorney, a degree of toughness and ruthless determination that also brought up echoes of the past in his mind.

The woman who had been his wife had kept a family safe and sound when he was gone (and his memories suggested that he'd been gone often and for long periods of time), faced down dangers and endured great hardships. She'd been no slouch where courage had been concerned.

Takagi was no slouch in her line of questioning either. His eyebrows lifted at a couple of the questions, wondering if the woman really wanted to hear the answers. A few of the questions, the one about him playing with her hair and the last two in particular would be especially difficult for him to answer.

"Gods, woman…you don't do anything by half, do you?" he drawled, the side of his mouth curling slightly. He pulled away from her and motioned towards the bench on the back wall. He sat down beside her and leaned back against the cold wall, stretching his long legs out in front of him and thought carefully for a minute or two.

"I do have memories of having my hands on your shoulder. In many of them I am wearing white gloves, almost like the ones I wear when wearing my formal police uniform," Saitoh offered, glancing down at his large hands, then over at Takagi's bandaged ones.

He thought about her comment about a child being feverish, scowling with concentration. "I remember buying ice…blocks of ice that were packed tightly in sawdust….and bringing them home. You chipped the ice with a pick and made a compress. The boys, all three of them were sick, had some sort of red rash on their faces, chests and backs." He frowned wondering what sort of disease had befallen their children, then had to remind himself that they didn't have children together.

Saitoh turned slightly so he could face Takagi. "I find it interesting that you are able to associate a memory with a location or a title. I have no such talent." What he could recall with perfect clarity however were minute details associated with the event.

"Yet, this is a memory I can recall well. Your kimono was dark blue, nearly black and soaked through with ice and snow." His expression became stark as the recently recalled memory resurfaced. "The tips of your toes were white and waxy and when I tried to restore circulation you cried out in pain. I wrapped you in a threadbare blanket and my haori, but you were still so cold." There was another sorrow associated with this memory, but one that was still hidden from him.

He then told her of Okita's assertion that both he and his missing partner had been part of that infamous policing force, answering the question that she brought up earlier in his office as he described memories of watching the shorter man helplessly coughing up blood that leaked through his pale fingers and stained the snow covered ground scarlet.

Saitoh was smart enough to steer clear of her comment about wifely obedience, stating that expected behaviors in the past were not necessarily needed in the present. He did admit however, that she'd been wise to follow his instructions and if he ever spoke to her in such tone, that there was a reason for it and she'd do well to listen. As for the part about duty, he didn't need to tell her that some aspects of a man's life remained constant, no matter how many years or lifetimes passed and was pleased that she was somehow already aware of this fact.

"I may offend you with my next answer, Takagi-san, but you did ask the question and I would not have you hold me in contempt for not responding truthfully," Saitoh warned his voice dry and sardonic. "There are very few instances in my memories where your hair is unbound…and we are not engaged in some sort of intimate activity."

The night before, after he'd woken up hunched over on the floor in his boys room, covered by a fluffy duck blanket of all strange things, Saitoh had wandered, still half asleep back to his room and had crashed, face down on the futon. Despite being in desperate need of sleep, his rest for the remainder of the night had been anything but restful. He'd dreamt of the woman sitting beside him, of unfastening her hair with his hands and pulling her down beside him on a futon lit only by a flickering candle lit lantern. In his dream, a winter storm had raged outside, battering the wooden structure with ferocious wind. They'd paid the weather no mind, he and his wife, for they had the means and the motive to help each other stay warm.

"You have no recollection of this, do you?" He said, not unkindly, though he was surprised and a trifle dismayed that those most private of memories, proof positive in his mind at how compatible they truly were, had been denied to her. "They will come in time and will be I suspect a comfort to you as they are to me. But perhaps this is for the best. Given your background, I think having to carry the weight of such remembrances could prove initially unsettling to you, especially now, when we are still learning about each other."

He reached out and took one of her hands in his and gave it a reassuring squeeze. Saitoh could tell she was nervous and while her question had technically led to this conversation, it wouldn't do to have her worrying about this aspect of their past or potentially future relationship. "I have no expectations of you in this regard and the promise I made in my office about accepting only what you freely give to me still holds and always will, so be at peace."

This left the last two questions, the two recollections that Saitoh honestly had no desire to dwell upon. It was his duty however to properly disclose certain facts about himself and perhaps this was the vehicle by which to engage in proper due diligence.

"I also am aware that my life ended before yours. I remember you sitting beside me. We were old, our boys grown with families and children of their own." He looked over at the pretty woman, superimposing the memory of her softly lined face and snow white hair on her still youthful features.

"I was dying of some sort of malignancy in my stomach." He could remember coughing up blood the color of pitch, of a terrible burning pain that threatened to consume him from the inside out. "The doctors said it was due to excessive drinking. You stayed with me, trying to ease my pain, day after day, night after night until the fire and blood moved up into my throat…" He grimaced at the memory and could almost taste the bile and blood and sense how painful it had been during those last few agonizing days of life.

Unbidden his free hand went to his throat. "You never left my side and my last memories are of you, of your arms around me as I struggled to breathe." It was eerie, recalling one's own demise. Saitoh knew he'd died painfully and slowly and that his passing had been heart wrenching for his wife.

Unable to completely banish the memory of dying due to a lifetime of drinking, he looked down at the floor, his expression becoming hard…haunted. "I drank heavily back then and when under the influence of liquor, was not an agreeable individual to be around." A sudden desire to drink sake filled his mouth. He had to swallow and set the ache aside. "Drinking made me violent and ill-tempered, and while I can honestly say that I have no memory of laying a hand on you in anger, there were times that I did not treat you with the respect and kindness that was due. You got in the habit of calling me an ornery old wolf when I behaved thusly."

Saitoh was not in the habit of giving anyone explanations for his behavior, nor was he well versed with exposing his own shortcomings to another human being. (I have to do this…) His honor and her honesty up to this point demanded nothing less. He tightened his jaw until he could almost hear the enamel cracking and forced himself to continue speaking.

"I have heard that those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are condemned to repeat them. This is a true statement; and is unfortunately applicable in my own life. I was young when I was drafted and found that liquor dulled certain difficult aspects of military life. After the war was over and I had joined the police force, I continued to imbibe, though never to dangerous excess."

Saitoh stood up and walked over to the table that held the protective eyewear and picked up his folded shirt. "That changed after…." He scowled and slipped on his shirt, his voice becoming rough and raw with loss, "…after Yaso passed away. I lacked the skills to cope with her death and the manner in which she was killed and began drinking heavily." Saitoh buttoned up his shirt. "I nearly died from alcohol poisoning after one of the men who raped and murdered my wife was released on a legal technicality during his trial. Okita found me, unconscious and locked up in my office and got me to a hospital before my heart stopped. My children went to live with my sister. They needed stability and support and at the time, I was too ill to be of any use to either of them."

Saitoh turned and leaned against the table, the weight of regret pushing hard against his resolve. "I have very few regrets as far as my conduct goes, Takagi-san, but this is one mistake that I will carry for the rest of my life."

He sounded angry. He was angry at himself.

"While I will not make excuses for my behavior, or diminish the dreadful impact that my addiction had on myself and my family, I would have you know that I am trying to make amends, am active in AA and have been sober for a little over a year. I have never retreated from a battle, never considered turning my back on a fight and refuse to let this weakness define me any more than it already has."

Saitoh carefully tucked in his shirt over his armor and adjusted his hostlers and belt then picked up Takagi's holster, purse and delicate blouse and carried them over to where she was sitting and offered them to her.

"This is not the sort of information a man wants to share with a woman he's attracted to and admires, but you need to be aware of that I have a serious liability, one that you would do well to consider before we get any closer than we already are."

**Tokio**

"No, I don't do anything half way," she responded emphatically, but with a little smile, thinking that he should have known that if he'd been her husband.

She followed him over to the bench and plopped down beside him, scooting over a little so she was tucked in next to him, taking advantage of the heat that seemed to roll off of him. Now that she wasn't moving around shooting, or wrapped in his embrace, her bare arms were becoming chilled. She still felt compelled to be as close to him as possible, but at least now she wasn't continually asking herself why. She waited patiently for him to respond to everything that she had quizzed him about, wondering how much he was willing to share with her.

His mentioning holding her shoulders with white-gloved hands, gloves similar to the ones he currently wore with his dress uniform, jogged her mind. She knew something else about those white gloves, but the memory of what it was refused to surface; she furrowed her brow in frustration.

She told him sincerely that she appreciated him filling in her memory gaps of the events she related to him. He confirmed again that they did have three boys. That is what she first thought when her secretary told her about the Saitoh family tragedy. She wondered if his children with Yaso looked anything like the boys they'd had together. Would she recognize them by sight, or perhaps by the feelings that they would rekindle in her? The thought of having been a mother, even so long ago, was daunting, due to the responsibility it involved.

It was interesting to her that she could put a place to her memories, while he could not. "But you were always good with details; it was why you were so good at your job at the TMPD," she blurted out without thinking. She felt that there was more to that day in Tonami, when he'd tried to warm her shivering body. To her it was associated with great pain, both physical and emotional. "I can't help but think that there was something more to that day in the cold. I think it was something that affected both of us deeply, but right now I have no clue what it could be," the attorney confessed to him.

After hearing what he said about Okita's illness during the Bakumatsu she told Saitoh that she had seen a vision of blood on his partner when he first mentioned the man this afternoon in his office. She also knew that she had warm regard for the short, master swordsman, that he had been an important friend to both of them. She wished that she could meet Okita in this life.

She agreed with Saitoh that times had changed. Women were no longer property to be lorded over by their husbands. However, Tokio knew that a caring husband wanted only what was best for his wife and that there were times when it was best to just listen and obey for the sake of safety. He reminded her of this important fact when he told her that she had been wise to follow the instructions that he gave at the diner, telling her that if he ever spoke to her in such a tone, there was a reason for it and she would do well to listen. She knew she would.

She sat up a little straighter when he asserted that she might be offended by his next revelation. She hoped that he would be candid with her, regardless of the subject matter, and he did not disappoint, revealing the information without mincing words. At least now she knew where playing with her unbound hair led. Well, what did she expect? They certainly would have engaged in those sorts of activities, during the course of a normal married life.

_"You have no recollection of this, do you?"_

"No, I'm sorry I don't, not yet anyway," she said, a slight blush ghosting across her cheeks. Perhaps it was better she didn't remember the intimate encounters of their past until they knew each other better in the present. "But I do like to be close to you and I like it when you hold me. Maybe touching my hair will help me remember…," she trailed off, hesitating a moment before adding, "…and I miss you when we are apart." How idiotic a feeling towards a man you've known for a whole 24 hours, she thought to herself. His hand scooped up hers and gave it a reassuring squeeze as he reminded her, again, of his honorable intentions. She trusted his promise not to push her, but she knew that *if* he still had feelings for her, it wouldn't be easy for him. Did he feel more than just a responsibility that stemmed from his sense of duty? It was too early to ask that question. But she really did want to know how he felt about her now.

Tokio nodded in understanding, knowing how difficult it had to be for him to tell her these things that she had asked. So that was it. He passed away six years before she did. Tears welled in her eyes as she thought about how he suffered during his last days. She now remembered that Midori, her daughter-in-law, had been there to help her. They removed the phlegm from his mouth as he coughed it up. It broke her heart to see him struggle with his illness. "But you were strong and stoic to the end. You left this world in seiza," she reminded him, "with me sitting behind you, my arms around you, holding you until you took your last breath." Tokio looked stricken, bringing her free hand over to join the one of hers he was holding. She felt so lost and hopeless when he was no longer by her side her. If not for living with her oldest son, and being surrounded by his five or six children, she wasn't able to recall exactly how many grandchildren there were, she would have found a way to follow her husband to the afterlife.

The attorney sensed that the most difficult admissions were yet to come. His face took on a haunted look that frightened her, when he spoke of his heavy drinking during the first Meiji era, confessing that under the influence of alcohol, he was ill-tempered, disagreeable and sometimes violent. But he was correct; he never, ever laid a hand on her. Yes, sometimes it did seem that she would be crushed by his attitude when he was under the influence, but she always managed to bring him back to his old self, eventually.

She had a confession of her own to make now that she was able to remember. "During those times when you drank, I was frustrated with you and the way you acted. You are right; you never laid a hand on me in anger in our entire married life. I don't know how I know that, but I do." The little voice piped up that he had laid a hand on her plenty of times, but only because he wanted to please her. "I'm sorry, I never should have called you an ornery old wolf, regardless of how you acted, because I knew that it wasn't you, it was the sake talking." She lowered her voice to an almost inaudible whisper, "and I know I loved you back then, very much, and that is not something to say to someone you love."

_"I have heard that those who do not learn from the mistakes of the past are condemned to repeat them."_

She shivered against him, almost dreading what he would tell her next after she just admitted to how she felt about him all those years ago. Would he tell her that their first marriage was a mistake, because of his alcohol induced bouts of nastiness? Would he tell her that he wouldn't subject her to his bad temper in this lifetime? She was still holding one of his hands in both of hers when he stood and walked away from her, leaving a cold feeling in the pit of her stomach.

Leaning on a nearby table for support, he began speaking about his use of alcohol in this era, and why it became a problem. Her heart ached for him. In this life she had not suffered; in this life he had lost almost everything. She listened in anguished silence, wanting nothing more than to comfort and support him, to erase the hurt in his heart and mind. When this honest, honorable man before her admitted to carrying this one mistake of his for the rest of his life, she could not hold back the tears that trickled down her cheeks. He admitted the horrible impact his addiction had on his family, and how he was trying to stay sober. She knew he was a fighter, and she had no doubt that he would ultimately win this battle he was fighting with himself.

_"This is not the sort of information a man wants to share with a woman he's attracted to and admires, but you need to be aware that I have a serious liability, one that you would do well to consider before we get any closer than we already are."  
_  
Rising up to meet him as he approached her, she took the things he offered and set them down on the bench where she'd been sitting. She knew what it cost a man like Saitoh to admit to anyone that he had lost control and submitted to a personal weakness. She slipped her arms around his waist and drew herself close to him, resting her cheek against his chest, listening to his steady heart beat. "Thank you for sharing all of this with me. I can hardly imagine how difficult this episode of your life has been for you." The loss of Yaso, the woman he loved dearly, in such a brutal manner; drowning himself in alcohol as a result; and giving up his children to the care of his sister –that witch, her mind interjected- would have killed a lesser man.

"Thank you for being so honest with me. You have no idea what it means to me to be taken into your confidence, but I already knew most of this," she stopped speaking a moment to look into his eyes. "This morning, my secretary told me about how you turned to the bottle after what happened to Yaso-san, and she told me a 'rumor' about what Okita-san did for you, too, but I know that she was only disguising the truth out of respect for you."

"I have considered what you did to try to cope with your family tragedy, and I don't think of it as a liability. I think of it as a life challenge, something that I would be honored to help you with if you would allow me."

She had to turn away from him then, because the little trail of tears welling from her eyes would soon become a river if she didn't get a grip on herself. It hurt her so much to know that such severe pain and anguish had plagued him in this lifetime.

Stepping over to the bench, she silently grabbed her shoulder holster and fastened it over her body armor before donning her blouse. Tokio left it loose at the bottom, so she would have easy access to her side arm. She wasn't ready to face him yet. Although she felt completely drained emotionally, she knew that the path of discovery that they were walking was no mistake, and was very necessary. She took comfort in the fact that he was attracted to her and admired her. Creation had to know that she felt the same way about him. Could attraction and admiration blossom into something more? Only time would tell.

Glancing down at her gloved hands, she let out a sigh. It was time to take these things off, but she needed help. She sniffed a couple of times to clear her nose, wishing that she'd put a hanky in her pocket this morning, then she wiped the back of her hand over her eyes to erase the signs of her weakness before speaking. She still didn't trust herself to keep her composure, so she kept her back to him as she spoke.

"My medi-burn gloves are supposed to come off today. It takes two hands to get them off, and since I live alone there is no one there to help me. Would you mind removing them for me, now that we are finished with our target session?"

As an afterthought she added, "By the way, who is Tsutomu?" It was the name she whispered in that vision she had.

**Saitoh**

"_Thank you for being so honest with me. You have no idea what it means to me to be taken into your confidence, but I already knew most of this…"  
_  
Caught off guard by her candor, Saitoh couldn't quite school his expression and his eyes widened. The fact that she'd done her due diligence and had investigated his background didn't come as a surprise. One did not obtain the highest conviction records in Yokohama by taking anyone or anything at face value. It was the realization that she'd done her research and was here of her own volition, with her arms around his waist and her head resting against his heart that was so unexpected.

Not being the most merciful of individuals, he was unaccustomed to be on the receiving end of that particular emotion and for several unpleasant seconds, he wondered if mere pity was prompting the attorney to say what she did, a concept that was incredibly repellent to the proud man.

_"I have considered what you did to try to cope with your family tragedy, and I don't think of it as a liability. I think of it as a life challenge, something that I would be honored to help you with if you would allow me."  
_  
Saitoh wasn't sure if she was crazy or a candidate for sainthood. (Perhaps both) he mused, a faint, half-forgotten overheard conversation from long ago between a weasel girl and a laundry obsessed swordsman coming to mind.

Words failed him and he stared down at her as if he'd lost the facility for thought and speech in one fell blow. Katsu, the last woman who'd been made aware of his alcoholism, had never forgiven him for the mistakes he'd made, nor would she permit him to forget the damage he'd caused his entire family. Saitoh had never held her hatred against her, believing her reactions to be fair and understandable, considering the circumstances. The gulf between his sister's furious condemnation and Takagi's calm, sober acceptance was immeasurable and humbling.

And then she turned away from him, as if she was ashamed of her tears or was afraid that he'd think less of her for having a tender heart where he was concerned. While Saitoh would never admit it outright, nothing could be further from the truth. There was no dishonor in being decent and kind.

Even with her back turned, He knew she was crying. He could hear gasps, saw her slender back shudder with the emotions she fought to control. An echoing ache registered in his heart, when she tried to stifle a sob and as she slid her holster over her thin shoulders and silently slipped on her blouse. He found the juxtaposition of the delicate, feminine fabric concealing a high powered automatic weapon and military grade armor to be ironic, though not nearly as ironic as the fact that despite his promise to keep this woman from harm, she was in pain and weeping...and yet, he could not bring himself to approach her. He yearned to comfort her, but he was sorely out of practice after three years.

Eventually, she gained a measure of control and sighed, sniffled and tried to wipe her eyes with the back of her bandaged hands. She'd suffered harm for his sake, and was still in pain; he could feel her distress as surely as he could smell the salt of her tears. This of course was absolutely unacceptable. He had a duty to protect her…and a deep seated desire to ensure that the only tears she ever shed going forward were ones grounded in happiness rather than sorrow.

_"My medi-burn gloves are supposed to come off today. It takes two hands to get them off, and since I live alone there is no one there to help me. Would you mind removing them for me, now that we are finished with our target session?"_

"Aa," Saitoh turned her round to face him, not wanting to have a discussion with the back of her pretty head. He registered that she lived alone, a fact that both pleased and concerned him. "First things first, however," he said seriously as he reached up and carefully erased the remaining evidence of her weeping with a gentle swipe of his fingers. Her skin was soft, cool and pale; contrasting sharply with the heat of his body, calloused hands and skin that even in the winter was darkened from being exposed to the sun while on patrol.

Her eyes dry, his hands moved on, following the trail of wetness that travelled along the soft contours of her cheek and jawbone, the way a canine would follow a trail of blood. "I won't accept your apology for calling me on ornery old wolf," he grumbled, the cautious, almost tender touches belying his gruff tone. "I was an obnoxious pain in the ass when I drank, and am still an unpleasant, ornery man most of the time and will no doubt continue to frustrate you to no end."

Saitoh looked down at the woman, amber eyes darkening with emotions he would not hazard to name as he drank in the blessed familiarity of her features. "Some things never change, apparently." His acerbic words applied to far more than his pissy attitude. She was still beautiful, still kind, and still brave enough to risk walking beside him, despite his weaknesses. His regard for her had also remained strong and constant. With every touch, with every passing minute, the past he'd shared with this woman was blending fluidly with the present, making him feel like they were simply picking up where they'd left off so many years before and were continuing on their journey.

Saitoh realized that he was in danger of waxing poetic (Takagi had this strange effect on him) so he kept his damn mouth shut lest he say something idiotic and focused instead on complying with her request for assistance with her burn gloves. He reached down and took her hands, one after the other, and carefully peeled the burn gloves back, exposing her healed flesh.

"Move your fingers, a little," he said, massaging the previously compressed flesh of her palms and wrists until the skin was a healthy shade of pink. "Is there any residual pain or numbness?" There were a few blisters that were in the final stages of healing and while the burn gloves had done their job and prevented deep tissue scarring, it was plain to see her timely intervention on his behalf at the diner had come at a price.

"I don't recall whether I had the opportunity to properly thank you for saving my life yesterday," Saitoh said quietly as he brought her hand up and placed a soft kiss on the ridge of her knuckles. He had a hazy memory of something similar happening at the diner, but was unsure if he'd been awake or dreaming. He let his lips linger against her cool skin for a second and then reluctantly pulled away.

As he moved back, Takagi moved forward, much to his surprise. Her expression for an instant was absolutely inscrutable, and then the apples of her cheeks took a little more color right before she wrapped her arms around his neck and, rising up on her toes, kissed him softly on the cheek.

The gentle, almost hesitant endearment infused him at once with such raw emotion that he nearly shuddered in response. He felt himself closing his eyes, his arms instinctively encircling her waist rather than risk having her pull away from him. The feel of her mouth against his skin was electric, sending a shiver running down the length of his spine. He opened his eyes and looked at her. Pressed up against him, she was blushing now, but her arms were still around his neck, an action that Saitoh chose to interpret as an invitation.

(I'll take only what is freely given) That kiss had been and as far as he was concerned, one good turn deserved another.

He leaned down, but only a little, his eyes locked on hers. He swore he could hear her heart beating like a signal drum beneath her body armor. She swallowed nervously, but her grey eyes were anything but wary and her hands around his neck pulled him down towards her slightly upturned mouth.

Being a reasonable man, he met her halfway.

As far as kisses went, this one was chaste. He kept his mouth closed and the pressure light. Her response was innocent, yet unbelievably arousing, the sweet taste and the perfect fit of her lips against his causing an avalanche of memories, of another first kiss with this woman to pour out into his mind.

When he pulled away, she was still looking up at him, her mouth slightly agape, and her cheeks flushing beautifully.

Despite the fact his own breathing was none too steady; he gave the woman a roughish grin.

"It's getting late. Let me walk you to your car," he offered his deep voice slightly husky as he offered Takagi his arm.

**Tokio**

Tokio silently took the arm Saitoh offered, tucked in close to him, and walked beside him towards the parking garage where she had left her car. Her heart was bursting with emotion and her mind was filled with the vision of another very tender first kiss shared with this incredible man, whom she now held dear for a second lifetime.

Tonight her body had acted on its own again, as it did in the diner, obviously knowing what she wanted and needed far better than her conscious mind did. That was why she'd slipped her arms around his neck and kissed him on the cheek, willingly giving him an invitation to reciprocate. And he did, much to her pleasure and delight.

The contact of his soft, gentle lips on hers added depth and strength to the connection she felt to him, the connection that started –no, resumed, that little voice said- in the café, during the gun battle. His kiss was not demanding, but it brought back long buried sensations, and an ache for something more.

Her tears tonight were shed for him, for the personal hardships he'd had to endure in this life, for her desire to help him in any way she could. The memory of his hand softly wiping those tears away, tenderly drying her face, would stay with her forever. She was so grateful she found him, so hopeful that they might be able to pick up where they left off all those years ago to travel down life's path together, once again.

Her mind was filled with the melody and bits and pieces of lyrics from an ancient song, which seemed to sum up what had just happened between them and totally voiced what she was feeling right now.

_I kissed you…then it happened…I knew that you felt it too…by the look in your eyes…everything I want, I have, when I hold you tight. The magic when your lips are close to mine will last forever until the end of time  
_  
She had to hold back a light laugh, because she knew exactly what he would say – after he rolled his eyes- if she shared this thought with him, which of course she had no intention of doing. She was sure that he would say something like, 'Tokio, your womanly hormones are overcoming your common sense again.' And Tokio? Well, she didn't care if she was being moronically sappy, because at the moment the joy she felt was beyond words.

She turned her head slightly to look up at him, at the face the depths of her being had never forgotten, regardless of the passing years. Still confident that they were moving in the right direction down that path of discovery, she was very anxious to reach their final destination.

To see what happens next please read the sequel to this story. It is called "Close Encounters of the Combustable Kind". "Close Encounters" follows Saitoh and Tokio after they leave the shooting range.


End file.
